


flowers in the backyard

by justkeeponwriting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (in backstory), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Domestic Fluff, Hand Jobs, Homeless Castiel, M/M, Minor Character Death, References to Depression, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 06:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkeeponwriting/pseuds/justkeeponwriting
Summary: After Uncle Bobby’s death, Dean goes to check up on the cabin that he’s inherited. Dean hasn’t been at the cabin for years, but he knows Bobby hasn’t renovated it in ages, so he isn’t very thrilled to be saddled with it. Upon arrival, he notices that unlike he expected, it’s not unoccupied, nor falling apart – instead, a stranger called Castiel has made it into his home.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DCBB17. I’m as surprised as you are that I actually managed to finish this fic in time for this challenge. This story is a hot mess of everything – with a little fluff, a little angst, and a little amount of ridiculous animals. But I hope you like this strange story.
> 
> Please don’t pay too much attention to the geography in this fic (Google Maps can only take me so far). The deer thing is 100 per cent true, though – with me, it just happened with reindeer. I suspect white-tailed deer are more shy, but I’m citing my right to artistic license.
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you to my wonderful artist [aquacatz!](http://aqua-ref.tumblr.com/) View and reblog her lovely art [here](http://aqua-ref.tumblr.com/post/166606373229/art-for-helakkas-story-as-a-part-of).

**__ **

**_Day 1_ **

Dean wasn’t particularly thrilled when he pulled up in front of the cabin.

Though, Dean wasn’t thrilled about anything these days, if he was honest. He didn’t care about his job, or his apartment, or his breakup. He had put on a sad face for Uncle Bobby’s funeral, but even that hadn’t managed to truly make him feel anything. He’d been numb, underneath the sad look he’d practiced in front of a mirror two days before the funeral. Not that he’d actually needed to: Bobby’s funeral had been a very small affair, and the people who had attended it hadn’t known Dean very well. Sam had vaguely promised to come, but he’d canceled at the last minute. He couldn’t spare a weekend away from his busy new job, nor apparently afford the flight. Bobby’s friends Rufus, sheriff Jody Mills, and his neighbor Marcy Ward had been the only guests besides Dean. Jody had patted him on the shoulder and told him to call if he wanted to talk about Bobby, but Dean hadn’t. He didn’t have anything to say about the subject.

Dean missed Bobby, but he missed Bobby in a way he normally did – like they were in different states, and Dean couldn’t just drive up to Bobby in a moment’s notice and grab a beer from Bobby’s fridge while the old man hurled insults at him for not calling more often. He missed Bobby like he usually did, when he felt lonely sitting in his luxuriously furnished apartment and scrolling through the channels on a TV too big for his needs. But he didn’t think he had understood just yet that he could never call Uncle Bobby again. He couldn’t drive to South Dakota to spend a weekend at Bobby’s place and pretend he wasn’t exhausted after the five-hour drive, even though Bobby kept nagging him to take some time off work, or even a nap.

Besides, it wasn’t like Dean had any right to be sad. Though Dean called him an uncle, Bobby Singer hadn’t been related to him. Uncle Bobby had been an honorary uncle just because Dean’s biological father had dumped him and his brother Sam to Bobby’s care a few times a year, whenever the urge to leave home for a road trip filled with fights and drinking got too overwhelming for John Winchester. Compared to the loss of Bobby, Dean had felt even less when John Winchester had finally crashed his car during one of his drunken escapades through the country. Actually, losing his real father had been more of a relief than a sad moment, because John had slowly been drinking himself to death ever since Dean had been four years old and was too young to understand that his dad drank to forget his dead wife. Dean didn’t remember losing his mother – he’d been too young for that. And now, he thought, he was too old to be able to really grieve for Bobby. Life had already kicked him in the head too many times for him to really care. His mind was too numb for that.

Dean just couldn’t understand why Bobby had saddled him with this…good-for-nothing cabin. He was happy – or as happy as he could be, these days – that Bobby had left the _Singer Salvage Yard_ in Sioux Falls for Dean in his will, although Dean had no intention of moving to South Dakota and continuing the business. Bobby had taught him to fix cars, and he’d spent all summers during college helping Bobby out, but he had never wanted to make a living out of it. Likewise, _Singer Salvage_ had been a place where he had spent half his life, but he didn’t want to move in there. Dean had already cleaned up the place, rescued the books, DVDs, and items that he couldn’t bear to lose, and was selling the rest of it. He had lots of good memories from _Singer Salvage_ , so he appreciated that Bobby had named him the sole beneficiary in his will. But it had been a surprise when Bobby had left the small cabin in north for him as well.

As far as Dean knew, Bobby hadn’t come here much. The cabin was so far up in North Dakota that it was practically on Canada’s side. The forest continued as far as anyone could see and even beyond, and there was a half hour drive to the nearest village. There were a few neighbors, but they lived miles from the cabin, and the roads between the village and the cabins in the wilderness were in an awful condition. Dean had never understood why Bobby even owned the place – he hadn’t even hunted regularly during the last few years, and that was probably the only thing the cabin was good for: to spend a night after a hunt to get warm.

Dean had never cared for hunting, but the cabin was by a lake, and Bobby had taken Dean and his brother Sam fishing here when they were young, once or twice. Dean also remembered spending two summers here when he was little, but that had been ages ago. The last time he’d been here, he remembered fixing the cabin’s roof with Bobby, and that had been more than fifteen years ago. All in all, his attachment to the place was kind of…hazy. Not nonexistent, but barely there.

Since Bobby had come here so rarely, the cabin had been mostly left alone, and thus, it had been slowly eaten away by harsh winters and rough winds. Dean remembered the place to be practically falling apart, but Bobby hadn’t cared much about the cracked paint or the loose floorboards. Even if the cabin had been in a pristine condition, it still wouldn’t have been much: as far as Dean knew, it had no plumbing, no heating, and no extra space. Water had to be carried from a nearby well, and there was a small fireplace as well as a stove to heat up the cabin. It had none of the comforts Dean was used in his apartment back in Kansas, and he wasn’t looking forward to the trip. He would have to spend at least one night at the cabin, but Dean figured that if the worst should happen and the cabin was inhabitable, he could always sleep in his car.

But Dean had to check up on the place, if he was to sell it. He had no clear recollection of the cabin itself, and couldn’t remember what it looked inside, except that it had probably just one room, and nothing else. If he even could sell it – who on earth would buy a place like this? An old cabin with no comforts, situated far from everything? In a rough terrain like this? The fact that it was by a lake was its biggest draw, so maybe someone whose hobby was fishing would consider taking it off Dean’s hands.

Dean remembered liking fishing when he was younger, though. He just hadn’t had time to do that ever since he’d left home and started to climb the corporate ladder in _Sandover Inc_. Now, at thirty-three, he was the head of sales, had a wonderful apartment right in the center of the city, had fixed up his Dad’s old Chevy Impala (the only thing he’d ever wanted from his father), and had a gorgeous girlfriend who he would probably marry and start a family with.

Well. That was right before his biological dad finally drank himself to death, Lisa broke up with him, Sammy stopped calling him because he was too busy being a newbie in a Californian law firm, and Bobby kicked the bucket. Dean had stopped thinking about anything just to get through the days when his dad died, and had permanently gotten lost in a mist somewhere around Lisa dumping him. It was easier to go through life like that – just let it happen, don’t think about it, don’t question it, just wander through the mist.

Dean let out a huff, and stepped out of the car. He just needed to take a short look at the cabin, assess the damage, think of a rough price, and then head back home. He’d be back in his own bed before he’d know it. Dean had taken some time off work to get Bobby’s things sorted out, and this was the last thing on the list. Better to get it done fast, so he could head back to work. Not that it mattered much where he was, because sitting alone in his apartment felt the same as sitting at his desk at work, and driving up to a long-forgotten cabin was somewhere between those two ends of things that were different kind of empty.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dean muttered, and then chastised himself for speaking out loud. No one cared what he had to say. Not even him.

The cabin looked better than Dean had expected. The road to the cabin had clearly been rarely used, but at least there _was_ a road that led right in front of it. And the cabin hadn’t fallen apart, at least, and the roof that he had fixed with Bobby was still there. The wooden logs that the cabin was made of had been old even when Dean had been a child, and he clearly remembered running his hands on the uneven surface, taking a note of every chink, discoloration and blotch, making a pattern of them.

Now, though, the exterior of the cabin looked good and as if the logs had been recently painted. Dean furrowed his brows. Had Bobby visited the cabin without telling Dean?

The porch was also in a surprisingly good condition, given that Dean remembered stumbling over a loose board when he’d been younger. He also remembered that the handrail had fallen off and had been left on the ground for ages, because Bobby had always talked about fixing the whole porch, not just the handrail, and had never gotten around to do that. Now, the handrail had been refastened, and there were no loose boards anywhere on the porch.

Huh. Dean didn’t remember it ever looking that good.

The windows didn’t have any cracks, which also surprised Dean. He and Sammy had played baseball in the front yard when they’d been young, and Dean hadn’t caught the ball in time, once: it had hit the corner of a window, shattering it up to the lattice. Bobby had just put miracle tape on it to hide the crack, not bothering to change the glass. Now, Dean couldn’t find the cracked window. All windows were fine, and, in fact, they looked so shiny that they must’ve been cleaned recently.

Maybe Dean was remembering wrong. It had been years and years since he’d last visited, after all. He stepped off the porch, and walked to the backyard, where Bobby had kept the firewood in a small shed. The trail to the backyard was still there, and Dean managed a small smile as he remembered walking the same trail when he’d been five, and everything in life had been magical. Especially getting out of town, going to an adventure in the woods with Uncle Bobby, away from his Dad who never talked anymore.

The small woodshed was still there, but it wasn’t crooked. It had been properly propped up, and the firewood looked new. Dean furrowed his brows again – Bobby had been busier than Dean had thought. Maybe Bobby had cared about this place more than he’d ever said, and just hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about it.

That thought was shattered right when Dean noticed the flowerpots left from the shed. Bright, gleaming colors of red, yellow, and orange greeted him, and Dean had to blink twice before he realized that he wasn’t dreaming.

“What,” Dean said out loud.

Flowers? Who on earth had planted flowers in the backyard? Bobby would never have done that. His only plants even back at _Singer Salvage_ , where he lived, had been herbs, because Jody had forced them on him and he grudgingly ate those. These were honest-to-god flowers, simply for decoration, with no other purpose than to bloom in the lazy June air.

Dean didn’t have the time to ponder about the flowers, because just then, he heard a rustle from behind. Startled, Dean whirled around.

There was a man standing by the corner of the house, holding a bucket in his other hand, and carrying an axe in another. Some strands of his dark hair clung to his forehead, but otherwise, his hair pointed in every direction, like he’d only used wind to comb it. He had stubble darkening his cheeks, and mistrustful eyes that squinted right into Dean. It wasn’t very warm, in Dean’s opinion, but the man was dressed only in a t-shirt and threadbare jeans, not even wearing shoes.

They stared at each other for one moment, undecided how to proceed.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean snapped then.

“You’re in my property,” the man growled in return. The man’s low voice surprised Dean, and instinctively, he lowered his voice as well.

“Your property? _Your_ property?” Dean repeated, angry now. “Buddy, last I checked, this piece of shit cabin belonged to my Uncle Bobby! And now that he’s dead, it’s my responsibility!”

“Your uncle?” Something in the man seemed to shift, and the glare disappeared from his eyes. The fight fell out of Dean just as quickly, and confused, he watched as the man’s face smoothed out. He looked regretful, more than anything. Now that Dean looked, he could also see that the man seemed to be his age or so – it was difficult to tell with the beginnings of a beard on his face.

“Ah. In that case, I apologize. You’re Bobby Singer’s nephew?”

“Uh.” Dean blinked. “I’m…we’re not actually related. But he was my—” Dean stopped, not knowing why he was explaining a complete stranger anything. “Anyway, he left me this in his will.”

The man put the bucket down. It sloshed as he did so, and Dean instantly realized that he’d been carrying water from the well to the house when he had noticed Dean. The axe, Dean couldn’t explain, but seeing Dean’s look, the man at least put it down, resting it against the wall.

“I’m sorry to hear that he’s dead,” the man said.

“Were you, uh…” Dean couldn’t think what the man had been to Bobby, or why on earth he was staying at Bobby’s cabin. “His friend?”

“No,” the man said. “I’ve never met him.”

Dean couldn’t think of what to say to that, and when the man didn’t elaborate, they stood in silence.

The man sighed. “You should probably come in, if you’re here to stay.”

“Well, uh, I mean, yeah. I came to take a look at the property.”

“To sell it?”

Dean blinked. “I was planning to, yeah.”

The man nodded, and it looked like his movements had gotten heavier. “I see.” He turned, gesturing at the cabin. “We’d better go in, then.”

“I’m Dean. Dean Winchester,” Dean then remembered to say when they’d rounded the house and were stepping on the porch. The man stopped at the door, and turned to look at him. Dean didn’t know what the man expected to find, but he nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Castiel.”

“What?”

“My name is Castiel,” the man said, again in that growling, low voice. Dean pretended that the tone didn’t give him shivers. It had been years since he’d last had those kind of ridiculous thoughts, and he’d thought he’d gotten over them. It was okay to get flustered over low male voices and sharp jaw lines when you were a hormonal teenager, but it was a different thing now that he was over thirty and supposedly adult. Adults made good choices, and those choices didn’t include getting flustered over a decidedly male voice and strong-looking arms.

“Okay,” Dean said to cover up his confusion. “Cas it is.”

Castiel shot him a glare, but didn’t tell Dean not to call him that. Dean made a note of that, although he wasn’t sure why.

Inside, the cabin was much larger than Dean had expected. Usually, when you visited the same place as an adult you had visited as a child, things turned out to be smaller than you remembered them to be. The proportions were off, because as a child, you were much smaller, and the world was so much bigger. Dean couldn’t remember the inside of the cabin clearly – he thought it only had one room and a loft where he and Sam had slept as children – but that turned out to be not true. Either Bobby had renovated since Dean had last been here, or Dean just couldn’t remember properly.

The cabin was still small, but it had three rooms, depending on how you counted them. Through the door, they entered a corridor that held a coat rack, a closet, and a drawer. There was a door on the left, probably leading to a bathroom. On the right there was an open space that Dean remembered better. His eyes tracked the room, going from the old couch and coffee table clearly rescued from a trash heap to a huge table that dominated the space. The room seemed to serve as a living room and dining room at the same time. A fireplace was in the middle of the room, and next to it, was a stairway to the loft.

Castiel led them to the table, and Dean sat down, wonder in his eyes as he took in the cabin. Left from the table was a kitchen, and past it, a door. Dean didn’t remember what there could be behind it, but possibly a bedroom – if he and Sam had slept in the loft as children, Bobby must’ve slept elsewhere.

Dean had expected a cold, damp space with a table and a few chairs in it, and nothing else. Instead, the cabin looked inviting, warm, and while it was sparsely decorated, only holding the barest necessities, it looked cozy. Like somewhere Dean would gladly spend a night or two.

Castiel didn’t join Dean at the table. Instead, he went to the kitchen and started to make tea. Dean looked on as he put water in a kettle and put the kettle on the stove, turned the stove on, and started to rummage the cupboards for tea leaves. Dean stopped staring when he realized that he’d been mesmerized by Castiel’s hands for a silent minute.

“So, uh, you live here?” Dean asked.

Castiel paused; his hands faltered over the bag of tea leaves, until he resumed the movement.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“But you said you don’t know Bobby.”

“That’s correct.” Castiel stopped putting the tea leaves in the filter, and turned to stare at the kettle on the stove. “I found this cabin and thought it was abandoned.”

“You…wait.” Dean furrowed his brows. “You, uh. Are you…”

“You can say it. It’s not a dirty word,” Castiel said, sounding a bit amused. “I was homeless. Well, I still am, I guess. I don’t have an address, I don’t own a house, so technically, I don’t exist.” The kettle started to whistle as the water boiled, and Castiel took it off the stove. “I found this place a few winters ago. I was just looking for shelter for the night, but when no one seemed to live here…”

Dean didn’t ask how on earth Castiel had ended up in North Dakotan wilderness and even found his way here. Bobby’s cabin was in such a remote place that Dean didn’t think anyone could stumble across it, but apparently, it could be done.

“How long have you lived here?” Dean asked.

Castiel didn’t answer at first. Finally, he mumbled, “A while. I don’t remember. Probably two, three years?”

“Did you renovate?” Dean asked. He gestured at the window that he clearly remembered he and Sam had broken.

“I, uh.” Castiel seemed embarrassed as he poured the water into the tea pot. “I made some renovations. Small fixes. No one else had seemed to bother.”

Dean took another look at the cabin while Castiel poured them both a cup of tea. There were a few books on the other end of the table – Steinbeck, Dumas, Ishiguro, and…Emily Brontë with J.K. Rowling, side by side? – that Dean knew hadn’t been in Bobby’s collection. The walls were bare, except for one painting hung over the couch, opposite of the fireplace. The painting looked like it had been painted by a Dadaist, or a child. It was hard to tell.

Now that he thought about it, it seemed obvious that Castiel had kept himself busy here, transforming the cabin into an actually livable space – into his own space. Dean could hardly recognize Bobby’s influence in the cabin anymore. He didn’t know did that make him more relieved or sad.

Castiel sat down on the other side of the table and pushed the tea cup into Dean’s hands, and Dean couldn’t find it in himself to tell Castiel that he would’ve preferred coffee. It also dawned on him that he had no idea did Castiel even have coffee in the house. Dean wasn’t sure yet what type of person Castiel was.

“I didn’t see your car,” Dean suddenly noted. A car in front of the cabin would’ve surely alerted him that he wasn’t the first one here.

“I don’t have one.”

Castiel sipped his tea calmly, but Dean gaped at him.

“How—what? How can you not have a car? How do you move around here?” It was a half hour drive to the nearest village, and Dean couldn’t fathom how anyone could live here for three years without a car.

“I walk. Or use a bike,” Castiel said. “In the winter, I ski.”

“But it’s a 12-mile trip to the nearest village,” Dean argued.

“Yes?” Castiel blinked at him, and up close, Dean was startled by how blue his eyes were. Blue like the sky on a clear day, with no clouds in sight.

“You…you walk? That much? Just like nothing?”

“Well, not like nothing,” Castiel amended. “It takes a bit of planning if I want to go shopping.”

There was some humor in that sentence, Dean thought. Maybe. It was hard to tell from Castiel’s absolutely serious face.

Dean took a sip from his tea, and actually, it wasn’t that bad. A hot cup of tea felt great against his palms, and for a while, they sat in silence, just drinking their teas.

“How’d you end up here?”

“Does it matter?” Castiel asked, looking down at his teacup. Dean knew better than to pry – and besides, Castiel was right. It didn’t matter. Dean didn’t have to know why and how Castiel had ended up in North Dakota or how and why he had chosen to stay at an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere. Castiel clearly didn’t want to tell him, and although Dean felt like he had a right to know, he didn’t want to push.

“No,” Dean said. “I guess it doesn’t.”

They sat in silence again for a while. Castiel didn’t raise his eyes from his cup, and that was starting to unnerve Dean. He realized that this was a strange situation, and he didn’t know the best way to solve it, but at least Castiel didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe Dean could negotiate, get him to leave peacefully, and without calling the cops. Not that that would’ve helped – Dean didn’t even know where the nearest station was. He’d probably get laughed at in the phone and get told to solve his own problems. Not that he wasn’t used to it.

“So, uh,” Dean coughed, “You live here alone?”

“Yes. It’s just me.”

At least Dean didn’t have to worry about evicting a whole community of hippies.

“Are you staying the night?” Castiel asked. His fingers curled around the teacup, and he looked down as he spoke. Dean found that he didn’t like that – he wanted Castiel’s eyes on him.

“I drove here from Sioux Falls, South Dakota,” Dean said. That, at least, made Castiel look up. “I’ve been driving for nine hours, man. Yeah, I’m staying the night.”

“Right. Of course.” Castiel nodded. “And after that? How long will you stay?”

“I took a week off from work,” Dean said. It was true, although originally, he hadn’t meant to stay more than one night here. With Castiel in the picture, though, he felt compelled to stay for a while. Observe a little. Decide what to do next.

Bobby had really left him a hell of a surprise, though probably not in the way he’d intended.

“A week,” Castiel repeated. He let out a sigh. “Alright. I’ll prepare the bed for you.”

“That’s—” Dean started to protest, then realized that he shouldn’t have to, and shut his mouth. He owned the house now – if anything, Castiel should be asking _him_ if he could stay another night. Dean could’ve shown him the door, and Castiel wouldn’t have a thing to say in protest.

“Thanks,” Dean managed to say, instead.

“I guess I should start looking for a new place to stay,” Castiel said to his teacup.

His voice sounded so defeated, so small, that Dean instantly regretted everything he’d just thought. He didn’t have the heart to throw Castiel out in the…well, not cold, since it was summer, but outside. They’d both fit in the cabin just fine, right? And since Castiel had fixed it up, he deserved to live there at least until Dean sold the place. And Castiel could probably tell him about all the problems the cabin had, which would be easier than to go look for them on his own.

Dean stopped when he realized that he was just looking for excuses, none of which could override the real reason. He didn’t want to throw Castiel out. He knew nothing about Castiel, and that intrigued him.

This was the first time in a long while when he’d actually been interested in something. He didn’t want to let the feeling go.

“Or you could stay,” Dean said. Castiel’s blue eyes flashed into him, and Dean felt something tug his heart.

“I could?” Castiel asked. A small smile spread on his face, and Dean knew he’d made the right choice.

“Yup,” Dean said. “You can stay.”

 

* * *

 

Dean watched as Castiel changed the sheets on the bed. He had been right, and the door beyond kitchen opened to a small bedroom. Actually, the bedroom wasn’t that small, when you considered the cabin’s size, but most of the room was taken by a double bed. Dean didn’t ask if Castiel had brought it here, or if it was Bobby’s. Maybe Castiel had moved in here with someone, and then that someone had left him. Maybe they had something in common.

Dean let go of the thought as soon as it hit him. It was absurd to try to piece together a story about Castiel. Castiel hadn’t wanted to tell him, and Dean didn’t care enough to pry. It didn’t matter.

Castiel spread the new sheets on the bed, and Dean was woken up from his trance enough to go over to help. Wordlessly, they finished making the bed together. Castiel threw the pillows (three of them, Dean noted) on the bed, and they spent a moment in silence, looking at their finished work.

“I’ll sleep in the loft,” Castiel said then.

“Uh. Thanks, man,” Dean said. “If that’s alright?”

Castiel flashed him a crooked smile that could’ve been called amused. Dean didn’t know him enough to tell.

“Of course. Good night, Dean.”

“Night,” Dean said, then added, “Cas.”

Castiel closed the door behind him, and Dean was left alone in the room. He felt mildly curious about the room and the two closets that were squeezed between the bed and the corner, but that could wait until morning. Dean was tired, mentally and physically; he’d been driving the whole day, stopping only once for gas and to eat, and his quick check-up on the cabin had turned out to be anything but that.

He could scout out the place tomorrow. Dean flopped down on the bed, crawled between the covers, and fell asleep in a minute, not bothering to change his clothes.

When he woke up, Dean wasn’t sure why he was awake at first. Maybe he needed to take a leak? But, no, he felt fine. It was still dark outside, and with no light, the cabin was shrouded in an impenetrable darkness. Dean turned on his stomach, and tried to get back to sleep.

Then he heard a noise, and instantly knew that was why he had woken up. Dean shot up on the bed, blinking against the darkness.

He heard the dull noise again; something was tapping against the window in the other room. Dean’s breath hitched up, and silently, he threw the blanket off of him and put his feet on the cold ground. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and flicked it on. It was two in the morning.

Dean didn’t turn on the light. Instead, he used the light from his phone, and silently, he crept to the door, opened it, and glanced around. He couldn’t see anything, but just then, he heard the tapping noise again. It came from one of the windows, and Dean saw a shadow pass behind the window before disappearing. On the living room side, the waxing moon gave the room an eerie light, but not enough to see properly outside.

Dean crept closer to the window, and then heard the tapping noise again. It definitely came from the window. Dean continued towards the window, but then thought otherwise, and turned towards the ladder to the loft. What if it was a burglar? Or maybe Castiel was taking a midnight stroll?

Neither of those theories made any sense, and Dean realized that even with his brain foggy from it being two a.m., but just in case, he climbed up the ladder and peered into the darkness of the loft. Castiel was sniffling in his sleep – not snoring, but not quiet, either.

“Castiel!” Dean hissed. “Cas!”

Castiel snorted in his sleep, and there was a mumble of something, but nothing happened.

“Castiel!” he hissed into the dark. “Wake up!”

“Whuh?” After a little rustling, a light turned on, and Dean could see Castiel’s dark hair emerging from under a blanket. Castiel had been sleeping on the floor, with just a thin mattress under him, and Dean would’ve felt bad about that, but he didn’t have time for late-night guilt-trips.

“There’s something outside!”

“What?” Castiel muttered. He groaned, but sat up, the blanket falling off of him. In the light of the night lamp, Dean could see that he was sleeping in just his boxers – which for some reason were a shade of godawful orange – and hilariously, bright red socks. Before he could get a good look at the broad chest and the trail of hair that started right under his navel and went down, down, towards the boxers, Dean quickly looked away.

“There’s something outside,” Dean repeated. “Come on!”

Dean climbed down, and muttering something, Castiel followed him with a groan. Dean crept towards the window, glanced back to see that Castiel was still following him, and pointed at the window. Just then, another thump came from the window, and Dean jumped.

“Oh, that,” Castiel said. He sounded more awake now. He walked peacefully closer to the window, glanced outside, and then turned to Dean with a small smile. “You woke me up for this?”

“I—” Dean felt more awake now, and suddenly, he was embarrassed. He didn’t even know what he had woken Castiel up for. “It could’ve been a burglar!”

“In these woods?” Castiel asked. He was still smiling. “Lucky for you, it’s not. Take a look.”

“Why?”

“Take a look,” Castiel repeated, and furrowing his brows, Dean leaned towards the window.

At first, he couldn’t see what Castiel had meant. Then he glanced down, and saw antlers. Huge antlers, resting against the corner of the window, and following them, Dean saw a brown coat of fur.

“It’s a deer,” Castiel helpfully said.

“I can see that it’s a deer!” Dean hissed. “Why is it under our window?”

“He likes to sleep there,” Castiel said, as if was the most natural thing in the world. He slid his sock-covered feet on the floor slowly, gracefully gliding to the other side of the room, and glanced out of the other window.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Shh. Not so loud,” Castiel muttered. “Look.”

Castiel pointed at the window, and a bit hesitant but trusting Cas, Dean went over to him. In the moonlight, he could see that there were more deer than just one under the other window – it was a pile of deer over here. Dean counted three of them, nestled closely together and peacefully snoring together. It was a mess of spikes, noses and torsos and feet, but all the deer seemed to be perfectly content, sleeping on the porch.

“Wow,” Dean let out, instinctively.

“I agree,” Castiel said. In the darkness, his low voice seemed somehow more intimate. Dean shooed the thought out of his head.

“This happens often?” Dean muttered, still looking at the snoring pile of deer.

“Some nights,” Castiel said. “They like to rest on the porch. It’s more comfortable than the uneven ground.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “Guess that makes hunting pretty easy.”

“It’s not the season,” Castiel said. He let out an amused hum. “And they’re far too intelligent to stay here when the season starts. They’ve moved on to better places before the hunters even get here.”

They stayed silent for a moment, both watching the sleeping white-tailed deer. Dean felt strangely removed from reality, standing in the moonlight with a man who wasn’t supposed to be here, watching animals who weren’t supposed to be sleeping there.

“Was this all you woke me up for?” Castiel asked then.

“Uh,” Dean said. “Sorry, man. I guess I panicked.”

“You’ve never had deer sleep on your porch before?” Castiel asked, and Dean could hear from the tone that he was laughing at Dean.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Go back to bed, Dean,” Castiel said. “I can assure you, they’re not out to rob us. Well, maybe, if they found our supply of oatmeal in the kitchen.”

“Shut up,” Dean repeated, heat on his cheeks. He turned around and headed back to the bedroom. “Good night.”

“Night, Dean,” Castiel called after him.

“I’m living with a Disney prince,” Dean muttered as he fell back on the bed. “A goddamn Disney prince with his intelligent animals and…” Dean continued to mutter, before falling back asleep.


	2. Day 2

**_Day 2_ **

The second time Dean woke up, it was to a smell of coffee. He stayed in bed for a moment, closing his eyes and drawing in a slow breath. He hadn’t gotten confused when he woke up that he’d be anywhere else than in The Middle Of Nowhere, North Dakota, but the bed was still surprisingly comfortable. It wasn’t like his memory foam bed back in Kansas, but it felt fine. At least the blanket was effectively warm against the chilly room.

Dean didn’t bother changing his attire other than putting on clean boxers and socks. He’d dropped his overnight bag in the corner last night, not even watching where it landed, and now that he rummaged it for clean socks, he noticed that there was a line on the floor under the bag. He lifted the bag to reveal a hatch underneath it. Curious, Dean opened the hatch, but to his disappointment, there wasn’t anything incriminating in there, or even anything interesting. There was only a ladder that led to a very small basement, filled with canned foods. The basement looked so small that you could hardly turn around in there, so Dean closed the hatch and got up.

At least the amount of canned food explained how Castiel could live out here for so long without having to leave the cabin. He’d be fine even if a zombie apocalypse hit the planet.

“So, you _do_ have coffee,” Dean said as he stepped out of the bedroom, straight into the kitchen.

Castiel was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. His hair was sticking out in all directions, looking even worse than it had yesterday, and his eyes looked bleary and unfocused.

“Of course,” he muttered. His voice sounded even lower and gravely in the morning than it had at two a.m.

Dean opened the first cupboard he could, but instead of cups, there was an assorted mess of bags in there: flour, sugar, coffee, and several kinds of tea leaves. Dean took a note of that, and opened another cupboard, this time revealing bread and canned foods.

“Let me,” Castiel said then, standing up.

“I can get myself a cup,” Dean snapped, but Castiel ignored his protests, opening another cupboard over the sink and taking out a cup. He snatched the pot of coffee from the stove, poured Dean a cup, and pressed it into Dean’s hands, all while looking like death warmed over.

“Sit down,” Castiel said, and before he’d realized, Dean had already done that. “What would you like? Bacon? Eggs?”

“Uh.” Dean hadn’t expected any kind of breakfast, save for a cup of coffee he really couldn’t do without. He needed his daily dose of caffeine. “Eggs?” he tried.

Castiel opened another cupboard, this time on the ground, and revealed a fridge hidden behind that. Dean watched as he took out the eggs, closed the fridge, and took a pan from underneath the stove.

“How do you like your eggs? Scrambled?” Castiel asked, and Dean could only nod and continue watching Castiel’s hands as he cracked the eggs against the pan.

Castiel moved in the kitchen like he owned it, knew where every cup and trinket was, while Dean couldn’t even locate a coffee cup. He owned the place, but he knew nothing about it. The feeling that he was intruding on Castiel’s solitude was even stronger this time.

“Was this all here when you arrived?” Dean asked. He vaguely gestured at the kitchen.

“It was all here,” Castiel said. He poked at the eggs. “Mostly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said, still staring at the eggs.

“C’mon, I gotta know. Did you need to buy some stuff? What’s Bobby’s, what’s yours?”

“I suppose it’s all yours now,” Castiel said. He turned the stove off. “I never owned any of this. I just…watched over it.”

Castiel took a plate, put the eggs on it, and placed it in front of Dean. A moment later, he produced a knife and a fork, gently putting them on the table. He gestured for Dean to dig in, sliding into his seat opposite of Dean, and picked up his cup of coffee again.

“Aren’t you gonna eat anything?”

“I already ate,” Castiel said. Dean didn’t believe that, but dug into his eggs nonetheless.

“Damn, Cas, this is great,” he said between bites. Dean wasn’t lying – it tasted as good as it got.

“It doesn’t take much skill to cook an egg,” Castiel said. His lips curled into a small smile, and Dean grinned back at him. If nothing else, last night’s absurd interlude had broken the initial awkwardness between them. You couldn’t stay wary of each other, when you had watched deer sleeping on the porch together at two a.m.

“Besides, living alone, you can’t blame anyone else for the terrible food,” Castiel continued. “So I learned.”

“Tell that to my brother,” Dean said. “He lives alone, and he still could burn water.”

“I thought Sam lived with his girlfriend,” Castiel said.

“No, they split up last—wait, you know Sam?” Dean blinked.

Just like that, the moment was over. Castiel seemed to shut down – his smile disappeared, and his face hardened.

Castiel finished his coffee and Dean his eggs in silence. Usually, Dean would’ve eaten more at breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry anymore. He still needed to search the cabin, take a look at the grounds, and besides, he was getting more and more intrigued by Castiel.

Castiel got up from the table and took Dean’s plate and cutlery without a word, and settled beside the sink, presumably to wash the dishes. Dean didn’t know what he could do, other than explore, so that’s what he set out to do.

The living room held no huge secrets. There were books on the table, and there was a small bookshelf in the corner of the room, but Dean recognized its contents as Bobby’s books: some Japanese titles he couldn’t understand, a lot of obscure books about Egyptian mythology, some romance novels that neither Bobby nor Dean would have confessed to reading but did so anyway, and for some reason, a storybook about Finnish myths. Castiel’s additions were easy to spot: they were prose, usually classics like Steinbeck and Brontë, but there were also a few titles that Dean didn’t recognize at all. Besides those, there were books about nature: about birds, plants, and two books about astronomy.

The fireplace had looked unimpressive when Dean had first glanced at it, but now, he noticed that it had an oven above it, mounted to the wall. Dean couldn’t remember had it always been there, but it must’ve been – the fireplace seemed to be the oldest part of the room. Dean didn’t dare to go up the stairs to the loft, because Castiel had moved his bag there yesterday evening, and Dean wanted to give him some semblance of privacy, even if it felt like they were doing all of this backwards.

Besides the coat rack, the corridor to the bathroom held a drawer and a closet, and Dean peeked into them both. The drawer held nothing interesting: mainly clothes that Dean recognized as Bobby’s, and some that Dean didn’t recognize, so those must’ve been Castiel’s. The closet was also filled with winter clothes, and more interestingly, a safe was tucked in the back. Dean tried the handle, but it was locked, and a four-number combination was needed to open it.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean called out.

“Yes?”

“What’s with the safe?”

“Oh.” Castiel came from the kitchen, drying his hands on his jeans. “I don’t know. I’ve never opened it.”

“Do you have the combination?”

“No. I couldn’t find it.” Then Castiel flushed a little, and Dean grinned when he noticed the slip-up – so Castiel had been trying to open it.

“I was curious,” Castiel muttered. “I wouldn’t have taken whatever’s inside.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s all good,” Dean said. He didn’t know why, but he trusted Castiel. “Wonder what’s inside?”

“Probably something for you,” Castiel said, turning and going back to the kitchen. “Bobby left this place for you, didn’t he?”

That was true. In fact, Castiel hit a rather sore spot, but he couldn’t have known that, so Dean ignored the wording. Instead, Dean tried to open the safe with the most obvious combinations he could think of: Bobby’s birthday, the year of Bobby’s birth, and a bit selfishly, his own birthday and birth year, but nothing matched. He decided to leave it for now – he hadn’t gone through all the papers he’d rescued from the _Singer Salvage_ , so maybe he’d find the combination later.

The bathroom was exactly what he’d expected: a bathroom, and not much changed from how Dean remembered it. The shower-head was at least new, but the sink still had a crack on the side, and the bathtub was still as ugly and bulky as Dean remembered it to be. He recalled Bobby saying that he’d rescued it from a trash heap, and that’s where it belonged, in Dean’s opinion. Replacing a bathtub would’ve been too much to ask of Castiel, Dean thought. But otherwise, Castiel had clearly done his best to clean up the bathroom: the tiles almost shone, and for the first time, Dean noticed that the tiles had a little blue in them, spreading out like waves. He glanced around, looking at the corner and wishing that the outhouse would have magically transformed into a toilet during the night, but he had no such luck.

Curiously, Dean looked into the cabinet over the sink, but there wasn’t much of interest there. Hand cream, razor blades, a toothbrush in a cup, dental floss, toothpaste, and…a bottle of lube.

Well, Castiel looked like a healthy man with healthy needs, and whatever he needed lube for, Dean couldn’t say that…it… He had no idea where he was going with this. A tempting image appeared in his head, in which Castiel’s long fingers gleamed with the lube, promising to show Dean how to use it properly, and then those fingers reached behind Dean and caressed his—

Dean’s cheeks heated up, and he shook the image from his head. It was inappropriate to think that, and hadn’t he promised himself he wouldn’t do stupid things like this anymore?

Then Dean noticed that the bottle was unopened, with the seal still in place. Okay, that made things even worse. If it had never been opened, and Cas had never used it, maybe it didn’t even belong to him. And if it didn’t belong to Castiel, it had to belong to…Bobby? Dean excised the thought from his head before it had even formed properly, and he slammed the cabinet closed.

There were some things that you _never_ needed to know about your parents, even figurative ones.

Because Dean didn’t dare to check out the loft, his little adventure in the cabin ended to the bathroom. After that, he headed back into the living room, and saw Castiel sitting on the couch before the fireplace, reading something. His back almost touched the painting that was hung above the couch, and Dean’s eyes passed it over. He still couldn’t figure out what the painting was supposed to be about, but it definitely hadn’t been Bobby’s.

“Emily Brontë? Really?” Dean asked when he noticed Castiel’s book. Castiel lifted his eyes, giving Dean an unreadable look.

“She writes very well,” Castiel said. Dean couldn’t disagree.

Dean returned to the bedroom, and looked at the two closets in the corner, but that was a waste of time: there were two sheets in there, as well as an extra pillow, and a mirror on the inside of the other door. He sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. That was it. His expedition of the cabin hadn’t revealed anything interesting, nor anything important that Bobby might’ve left behind. Apart from the mysterious safe, the cabin was as empty as Dean had expected it to be.

At that thought, Dean felt hollow. He didn’t know what to do next. The cabin didn’t have a special meaning for him, not like _Singer Salvage_ had, and he meant to sell _Singer Salvage_. Would he ever come out here? What did he even need the cabin for?

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and then Castiel’s head poked round the door.

“Just to let you know, I’m going out.”

“Out? Where to?”

“I’m going to get water,” Castiel said. Dean shot up from his seat.

“I’ll go with you.”

Castiel looked surprised, but quickly schooled his face. Dean guessed that he hadn’t expected Dean to get involved in any of the everyday aspects of living – maybe he had imagined that Dean would live here as if he were in a hotel, and then get away as quickly as he could. Dean himself wasn’t sure why he was bothering, but for the first time in a long, long time…

He wanted to.

 

* * *

 

Castiel eyed Dean’s boots with some suspicion, but didn’t say anything as they stepped outside. Dean knew he wasn’t dressed very well for outdoor conditions – he’d gotten used to a suit and tie at his work, and even if he’d hated that outfit at first, it had become a safe choice. He felt comfortable in that. He rarely if ever went into the woods for a trek, so he didn’t have a proper jacket or boots for that. For this trip, he’d dug out an old pair he remembered using at the garage when he’d been ten years younger, and it was a pleasant surprise to notice that the boots still fit. Since it was summer, he hadn’t bothered with a jacket, and had just put on a blazer. He had a sneaking suspicion he had a proper jacket somewhere in his closet back in Kansas, from the days when he’d dated a girl who had used to drag him out to hike, but that had ended quick, and Dean hadn’t used that jacket in years. Maybe he should bring it here.

Despite the bucket Dean had seen Castiel carry when he’d arrived yesterday, this time, Castiel took a huge canister with him, completely ignoring the bucket that was still on the porch.

“I was bringing water for the flowers,” Castiel answered when Dean asked about that. “It’s not very efficient to store drinking water in a bucket.”

That was true, and Dean felt silly for not realizing that sooner. He hurried after Castiel.

The well was situated half a mile from the cabin, further away from the lake. Bobby’s cabin wasn’t right by the lakeside, but if you squinted, you could see water peek from behind the trees. Dean struggled to keep up with Castiel as they went up a trail, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t been walking in the woods for years. There hadn’t been any time, with his work – Lisa had made him do yoga exercises with her, and they’d gone to the gym sometimes, but mostly, Dean had relaxed by sitting on the couch and watching TV with her. The closest to nature he’d gotten had been a picnic in Lisa’s backyard. It had been years since that, too.

His life had really become closeted for the last few years, Dean realized as he panted and almost stumbled on a rock. ( _In more ways than one, ha_ – he firmly shut up that train of thought.) He hadn’t left his house to do anything fun in what felt like a lifetime. Especially after Lisa had left him – what would be the point in going outside? He hadn’t even ventured out to bars for company, like he would’ve done when he’d been younger. He hadn’t found enough energy for that.

They climbed up a hill, and just when Dean thought that the well had never been this far, even in his childhood, they reached it. There wasn’t much to getting water from the well: Castiel filled the canister as Dean tried to help, mostly by staying out of the way, and then they were ready to head back.

Dean turned around, and took a breath. They’d gotten a bit higher than the cabin, and from this angle, the lake was visible behind the trees. Gentle wind swayed the branches just enough to see the water glimmer, basking in the sunshine.

“What are you thinking of?” Castiel asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Dean breathed. He hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but Castiel seemed to have a talent to make him do things he wasn’t supposed to.

Castiel turned to look at the lake and smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Guess the view is one of the pros of living here,” Dean said. He startled when Castiel grunted, lifting the canister from the ground. Dean would’ve helped, but Castiel seemed to have no trouble at carrying the canister. Dean sneaked a few glances at how the muscles in Cas’s arm bulged, and then had to avert his gaze.

“It helps,” Castiel said. He headed down, leading the way again. “And it’s not just for show. There’s a lot of fish in the lake. Helps during the summer.”

“You fish?”

“Often. It’s a good food resource,” Castiel said. He looked up to the sky. “Actually, it’s a good day for fishing. It’s going to rain later. Do you want to go after that?”

“I haven’t fished in years,” Dean confessed. “I liked it when I was young, though. Bobby took me fishing sometimes.”

“We can go, if you’d like,” Castiel said. He didn’t sound like he was offering for Dean’s sake, at least not purely, and that’s what gave Dean the nudge to accept.

Dean smiled. “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

Despite the sky looking clear and blue early on, Castiel was right, and the weather turned colder in the afternoon, and the sun disappeared behind rain clouds. It rained for a while, and then the rain turned into a slow drizzle. Castiel declared that the conditions were perfect for fishing, so they set out. Dean didn’t have rain boots with him, but Castiel found an old pair in the closet – probably Bobby’s – that Dean could put on. Dean’s green blazer wouldn’t provide much cover for the rain, so Castiel loaned him a bright red Gore-Tex jacket. It was so ugly that the model should’ve been rejected before the first stitch, but once they stepped outside, Dean noticed that the jacket was comfortable and suitable for the weather. Castiel looked endearingly smug when he noticed Dean stop his complaining about fashion disasters.

Castiel was dressed in a much better-looking green Gore-Tex jacket and boots, and Dean made a mental note to buy himself a proper attire for next time. Then he remembered that there might not even be a next time.

Castiel led him behind the cabin, past the woodshed, and beyond that, Dean noticed another shed, hidden between the trees. It was far bigger than the tiny woodshed that was only used to store firewood, and this one even had double doors.

“This is new,” Dean noted. “Or at least I don’t remember this.”

“It’s new,” Castiel confirmed. “I built this two years ago.”

“You built this?”

“I, uh.” Castiel hesitated for a moment, but then continued, “I needed more space.”

Castiel opened the doors, and walked inside with Dean on his heels. The doors weren’t locked, which boggled his mind when he saw what Castiel had stored inside the shed: among others, there was a bicycle, life jackets, several fishing rods that Dean recognized as Bobby’s, gardening tools, two bags of mould, and most impressively, an outboard motor.

“Dude!” Dean hissed, pointing at the motor. “This…this should be kept under lock and key! It’s valuable!”

Castiel handed Dean a fishing rod and a life jacket, took one of each for himself, and grabbed the motor. Dean got the feeling that he didn’t want to answer Dean.

“Maybe,” he finally said. “But I couldn’t lock the doors, in case Bobby needed to come here.”

Dean followed him out of the shed, and helped to close the doors. “So you were in contact with Bobby?”

“Not really,” Castiel muttered. “Help me carry this?” he asked, and although it was a clear deflection, Dean let him have it.

Together, they carried the outboard motor to the lake. Before the vastness of the lake, Dean felt insignificant, and alone – there weren’t any other docks in the lake, nor could he see anyone else’s cabin by the lake. Dean knew that there had to be others, because he’d looked at the map before coming here, and he’d counted three other cabins by the lake, but he couldn’t see any of them. He remembered the dock Bobby had built, though: he had stood here as a kid, looking at the lake, and felt just as insignificant and small as he felt now.

Castiel fixed the motor to the boat that was tied to the dock, and then they were off. The sky had cleared, and the rain was down to just a few drops every now and then. Castiel directed them to the farthest point of the lake before it broke off to a river, to a small cove.

“This is a good spot,” he explained. “I’ve caught a lot of walleye, here.”

Dean needed no further instruction. They cast their lines, and then sat in silence, the dampness of the air slowly clinging to their every warm part and turning the world into a grave of water. It should’ve bothered Dean, and he spared a thought to his penthouse apartment back in Kansas, the warmth that awaited him, but he found that he didn’t mind much. He liked sitting in the boat with Castiel, the world empty around them, tugging their lines at intervals, and listening to the quiet lapping of the waves.

They waited a lot less than Dean was prepared for. After only ten minutes or so, Dean felt a tug, and suddenly, an all-out battle broke out. Dean hadn’t remembered how exhilarating and hard it was to reel a fish in.

“Here, pull it in,” Castiel instructed. He grabbed a bucket from underneath his seat, and Dean quickly pulled the fish in, putting it in the bucket, where it flapped and squirmed. Dean couldn’t help but break into a grin.

“I caught one!” Dean yelled.

“You did,” Castiel said, laughter in his voice. “Now shut up. You’ll scare away the rest of the fish, and one isn’t enough for dinner.”

“You’re just jealous,” Dean grinned, but turned back to his fishing rod, already putting new bait in.

They fished in silence after that, only broken by the one catch Castiel had. They shared a grin, and then went back to fishing in silence. Dean caught another fish, then Castiel, and then there was silence again.

Dean was used to silence, although he didn’t love it – his childhood had been nothing but that, long stretches of silence as Dad drove around, with Dean and Sam sitting in the back of the car. Dean and Sam had talked among themselves sometimes, but their Dad had rarely answered. There were too many layers for Dean to even start decoding what it meant, but sometimes, he couldn’t bear to sit still and be silent. It made him too anxious.

But with Castiel, it felt natural to just sit and be silent. Perhaps that was because they didn’t share a painful past, just an unusual start of…whatever their acquaintance was. Dean didn’t get the feeling that Castiel disapproved of him. Or that he was hiding any ill thoughts about Dean. Castiel just _was_.

At some point, though, Dean couldn’t handle it anymore. He had to open his mouth to speak.

“So, do you like it out here?” he blurted out. Castiel jerked, clearly not having expected the question, and turned to look at Dean with round eyes. Dean couldn’t help but notice that they were a brighter shade of blue than the water.

“Yes,” Castiel finally said. He didn’t elaborate, so Dean continued.

“Don’t you get lonely? I mean, I guess there are neighbors, but you’re out here all alone, and, uh…”

“Sometimes,” Castiel said. He probably took pity on Dean’s rambling. “And the neighbors help. They’re very nice, actually. Have you met them?”

“Um. No.”

“Well, there’s Pamela Barnes. She lives east from…us, and she’s the newest resident. Part-time resident, actually, since she’s away so much. She has a bookshop at the city nearby, and she usually stays the night there. Easier than driving two hours there and two back every day.”

“Guess you need to work at the city if you wanna live here,” Dean said.

“Most do,” Castiel nodded. “Then there’s Victor and Nancy Henriksen. They’re a lot by themselves, but very nice when you get to know them. You might want to watch your back, though – Victor’s retired from the FBI.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever plan a robbery around here,” Dean quipped, and Castiel snorted.

“And finally, there’s Frank, in the furthest house from the lake. Frank is an…acquired taste.”

“Frank Devereaux,” Dean said, and Castiel nodded. “Hey, I remember him. He used to come round a few times when I stayed here with Bobby. Always had a conspiracy theory or two to spare.”

“He still does,” Castiel said. “But he’s very nice, once you get past that. He also helped me install my internet.”

“Wait. You have internet?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, and this time, Dean definitely saw amusement in his eyes. “I may live alone, Dean, but I’m not a complete hermit.”

“Never would’ve guessed that,” Dean said, and Castiel snorted.

“I would’ve died from boredom without Netflix. You try living three years in the middle of a forest with no means to entertain yourself.”

“I never could,” Dean said. “And besides, I couldn’t just leave my life and move here. Not like people here seem to do.”

“What do you do, Dean?”

“I work in sales in _Sandover_ ,” Dean said. “Head of sales, actually. I was promoted a while ago.”

Castiel was silent for a moment. “That sounds nice.”

Dean snorted. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“I know nothing about the corporate world,” Castiel protested. “I don’t know how high or low your position is. The main thing is that you’re happy with it.”

That was a much sharper observation than Dean cared to examine right now, so he said nothing to that. He turned back to his fishing rod, muttering something that could’ve been interpreted as an agreement, and stared at the water even when he felt Castiel’s eyes on him.

“Does that apply to you, too?” Dean asked, to deflect.

“Am I happy here?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel glanced at the sky. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I am.”

Dean continued to stare at the water. He didn’t know what to do with that answer.

 

* * *

 

They stopped fishing after Castiel made one final catch. They now had five walleyes, more than enough for today’s dinner. It had been early afternoon when they’d left the cabin, and Dean felt exhaustion creep into his body when they got back and he noticed that it was already six in the evening. It was the good kind of exhaustion, though; despite Dean’s momentary delve into an awkward territory during which he’d plummeted into a short existential crisis, they’d continued to talk about other subjects. Castiel had avoided talking about himself, so Dean had filled the silence by chattering about his work, Kansas City, and the few friends he had. He’d mournfully told Castiel about Benny, his friend from high school, and Charlie, his best friend, who’d moved to New York two years ago, and whom Dean hadn’t seen face-to-face after that. He still missed her terribly, despite the frequent Skype calls.

Dean didn’t usually talk that much about himself, but he’d noticed that it was easy to talk to Castiel, and he was a good listener – or at least good at pretending to actually be interested in what Dean had to say. Besides, in return, Castiel had told him all about the area, its residents, the animals, the nature…everything there was to know. He even had some funny stories about the nearby village and its residents, even if Dean hadn’t expected him to be a good story-teller at first glance. Castiel had a subtle, sarcastic sense of humor that colored his talk in a good way, and it had taken Dean by surprise when he’d realized how taken by Castiel’s stories he was.

Dean ushered Castiel away from the kitchen and prepared the fish by himself. He hadn’t had much energy to cook in recent months, but it had always been something he’d enjoyed doing, whenever he had the time, and now, in the silence of the cabin and with Castiel hovering at his backside, he felt at peace while he seasoned the fish and put it in the oven. Despite trying to keep Castiel away from the kitchen, insisting that he’d done enough for today, Castiel kept hovering near, wordlessly pointing at this or that closet or drawer whenever Dean was looking for something.

Castiel had stashed potatoes in the basement, so they boiled those, and while the meal was very simple, it tasted great. They ate in a companionable silence, sitting opposite of each other at the table. Dean hid his smile when he noticed the way Castiel’s tongue would poke out to lick his lips, to clear up the grease from the fish. It was strangely adorable.

While Castiel cleared the table, Dean took another look at the bookshelf by the wall. He’d already leafed through every book there was, but now he noticed that on the top of the shelf, hidden up above, was a board game. He reached up to take it down.

“I forgot Bobby had this game,” Dean said. The game of _Sorry!_ was run-down, and his fingers carefully curled around the edges of the box. “We used to play this. I sucked at this.”

“It’s the only board game here,” Castiel said.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you get enough practice, then?”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean said, but he smiled, and Castiel smiled back.

“Do you want to play?” Castiel asked then, and before Dean knew it, they were seated around the table and setting up the board.

Dean spared a moment to think that his life had truly gone off the rails if he was perfectly content at spending a night playing _Sorry!_ in the middle of North Dakotan wilderness, with a man who had broken into his property.

He didn’t mind all that much.


	3. Day 3

**_Day 3_ **

Dean had slept much better the second night, only waking up once when he heard noise from outside, but he had enough presence of mind to remember the deer, so he’d immediately fallen back asleep. The room had felt chilly in the evening, but tucked under the wonderfully thick blanket, Dean hadn’t even noticed. At home, he usually woke up at seven, even on his days off, but when he glanced at the clock that morning, he wasn’t surprised to find that it was already nine. He hadn’t slept that well in years.

Castiel was awake and reading at the table when Dean finally stumbled into the kitchen. The first thing Dean noticed when he sat down was that Castiel had shaved. Gone was the beginning of a beard, and instead, his cheeks were smooth – or as smooth as he could get them, probably, because Dean could still see a faint stubble. Cas was probably one of those people who could’ve shaved every hour, and it wouldn’t have mattered: he’d always have a little stubble. Not that it mattered: it looked good on him. Distractingly good, because Dean found himself wondering what that stubble would feel like, against his palm. Then he realized that it was an absurd thought. _He_ had a stubble. He knew exactly what it felt like. He shaved his face every day.

But it wasn’t the same to feel his own stubble and to feel Castiel’s against his skin.

To distract himself, Dean asked, “Is there any coffee left?”

“In the pot,” Castiel said, and then suddenly looked up from his book. Dean had the confusing thought that until now, the cabin had been dark, and now all the lights had been turned on. He blinked in the brightness of Castiel’s blue gaze.

“Good morning.”

“Uh, yeah, morning,” Dean managed to say. He stumbled up from his seat, narrowly missed hitting his hip against the corner of the table, and hid his embarrassment by preparing himself a cup of coffee.

Castiel, thankfully, didn’t note his odd behavior, and Dean managed to heat and pour himself a cup. Then he crouched, opening the fridge, but to his disappointment, found just vanilla yogurt inside. The eggs had apparently run out, and there was nothing else Dean would even consider putting in his mouth there.

“You live like this?” Dean muttered.

“Like what?”

“On…on yogurt.”

“I like yogurt,” Castiel said. “And I don’t need big breakfasts.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect,” Dean said. Castiel gave him an odd look, and Dean jumped on his feet to hide his flush.

Castiel took pity on Dean’s fallen face, though, because before he knew it, there was a bowl of cereal in front of him. Dean hadn’t thought to look into the cupboards, and he also hadn’t remembered that there was milk in the basement, so it was a nice surprise to be proven wrong, once again. He really needed to stop thinking of Castiel as a hermit living on just canned foods.

Castiel kept him company through breakfast, keeping his book open but barely glancing at it, and instead, talked with Dean. It was trivial, just trading some remarks about the weather and the area and tidbits about their lives, but nonetheless, it felt nice.

At some point, Castiel hid a yawn, and Dean frowned. Castiel put on a brave face, but Dean could see the bags under his eyes.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“A few hours,” Castiel said. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, letting some of the pretense go. “I woke up at three and couldn’t fall asleep after that.”

“I guess the floor isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep on,” Dean said, feeling guilty again.

“I’ll manage,” Castiel said with finality. Dean opened his mouth to argue, to say that the double bed was enough for them both, but then quickly shut his mouth.

What would it feel like to share a bed with someone again? Someone like…Cas?

Dean looked away when he realized that he was staring, again. It was inappropriate to think of things like that, and worse, it wasn’t even sex related, this time. Just a passing thought of warmth and comfort.

“I’m, uh, I’m going out today,” Dean announced then.

“Out?” Castiel asked. “Oh, to the village.”

“Yeah. I mean, I need a few things and—wait, is there even a store there?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said, snorting. “There’s a grocery store. Actually, two. And a bank. And a post office. And a library.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean muttered. “Bigger town than I imagined, I get it.”

Castiel smiled. “Enjoy your trip. Might do you good to expand your views.”

“Shut it,” Dean said, but he hid a smile.

 

* * *

 

Dean considered asking Castiel to come with him, but Cas hadn’t seemed like he would be moving from his spot on the couch for hours, so he went alone. Besides, it was good to get a little distance, to clear his head and try to get a perspective on the strange situation they had going on here. Dean hadn’t felt so confused and equally exhilarated in someone’s presence since meeting Lisa, and even then, the feeling had faded quickly. Dean was still waiting for Castiel’s spell to break, but in the meantime, it would do him good to be alone for a while.

Castiel had been right: the town was bigger than Dean had imagined. It was still small, but at least the population was in thousands and not in hundreds, like Dean had dreaded. Everything looked clean, instead of the rusty and moldy buildings Dean had expected. He didn’t know where he’d gotten that image – perhaps the town had seemed so scary when he’d been five that it had left a lasting impression. He had driven straight through it on his first day, not stopping to get a look, and wasn’t prepared for how _sweet_ it seemed. The town reminded him of a dollhouse: like someone had made a town based on how they thought a town should look. Everything was where you expected it to be, and every building was designed so that it was just what you expected it to be. It was oddly charming.

The sky had been dark when Dean had left the cabin, but he hadn’t thought much of it. But as Dean walked around, getting a feel of the town, the sky opened up and rain started pouring down. Dean was too far away from his car to make it there dry, so he ducked into the first building he could. It was a grocery store, a small one, but it looked neatly stocked. Behind the only conveyor belt, there was a middle-aged woman who greeted him enthusiastically.

“Hello! Can I help you?”

“No, thanks,” Dean said, flicking raindrops from his sleeves, “I just came here to escape the rain.”

“That’s alright,” the cashier said. “The rain should stop soon. It comes and goes, this time of year.”

There were a few other people in the store, and the cashier turned to serve them, so Dean wandered to the magazine stand to entertain himself for a while. He spent a few minutes browsing the papers, but didn’t find anything interesting, and figured he could do his shopping while was there. He really couldn’t spend another night at the cabin without proper food – Castiel might’ve stocked the cabin well, but Dean wanted to make pasta today, and that required something else than canned foods from the basement, or fishing their food out of the lake.

The store was small, but to his delight, Dean found everything he needed. He was the only customer left when he went to pay, and the cashier seemed talkative, so he spent a while chatting her up.

“Passing by?” the cashier cheerfully asked. “What do you think of our lovely little town?”

“It’s busier than I thought,” Dean confessed.

The cashier laughed. “It’s the tourist season, so we get a lot of traffic at this time of year. People come to fish, hunt, spend time by the lakes. This is a good place to stop.”

“And in the winter?”

“It’s dead,” the cashier said, smiling brightly. “Absolutely dead. Nothing happens here then.”

“Sounds…nice.”

“It is, actually. Gives us a break from the tourist season,” the cashier laughed. Then she eyed Dean, curiously. “You’re not here to hike, are you?”

“No. I, well, I inherited a cabin and came to check it out.”

“Oh? That’s nice. You don’t have to rent, then. Where is it?”

Dean vaguely explained, but when the cashier couldn’t place it, Dean took a chance, and asked, “You, uh, do you know Castiel?”

“Castiel? Yes, of course,” the cashier said. “He comes here a couple times a month to stock up. Permanent fixture, you could say.”

“You probably don’t know, but, uh, where he lives, that’s the cabin I inherited. It’s not actually his house,” Dean said. He didn’t know why – it would be cruel to out Castiel to these people, but he wanted more information about Cas. Talking with anyone else would give him at least a little window into how the town viewed Castiel.

“Of course we know that,” the cashier said. She grinned. “Everyone knows everything there is to know about others, here. Where’s the fun in a small town if you can’t gossip?”

“Wait, you all knew? How?”

“Hon, he never hid it. He used to stay at the motel for weeks at a time, when he first arrived. Then he moved to the woods, and the next time he appeared, he came to buy wood and tools to ‘fix something.’ Ain’t that hard to put two and two together. We all know it’s not his house.”

“But…you let him stay there.”

“Well,” the cashier said, looking a little warily at Dean now, “Bobby never had a problem with him.”

“Bobby knew Cas?” Dean asked. “Wait, rewind that, you knew Bobby?”

“Sure. He came here two times a year, like a clockwork, always on weekends. Didn’t speak much, but he was nice,” the woman said, and Dean silently agreed. That was an accurate description of Bobby.

“Bobby never told me about this,” Dean said. “He’s my…uncle. But he never told me about Cas living in his cabin. Why’d he hide that?”

“Maybe he didn’t know how to bring that up,” the cashier said, slowly, clearly thinking of how to put her words. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think Bobby ever met Castiel. He asked around, the first summer, when he noticed that someone had fixed the porch, but Castiel made himself scarce when Bobby arrived. He left to the woods for a few days whenever Bobby came ‘round.”

“But…Bobby knew that he lived there.”

“Of course. And he didn’t have a problem with that.” The cashier smiled. “I think it was rather sweet. Bobby must’ve felt sorry for Castiel, so he let him stay. He used to say that it’s good that at least someone’s enjoying the cabin.”

“So…that’s not a problem?”

“Look, I know it’s unconventional, but Castiel’s a good guy,” the cashier said. “A little down on his luck, a little…unbalanced, maybe, but a good guy. He wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“I didn’t imply that,” Dean said, annoyed and a bit hurt that someone dared to call Castiel “unbalanced.” From what Dean had seen, Castiel was anything but that. Eccentric, maybe, but so was everyone in this hillbilly town. It was practically mandatory, if you lived in a remote town where the only means to support yourself was tourism or fishing and hunting your food.

“Are you going to throw him out?” the cashier asked then. Straight to the point, Dean thought. Not even softening the blow. She eyed Dean warily, as if Dean did not understand the whole situation.

Dean couldn’t help but snort. “Like you said. Cas is a permanent fixture, at this point.” He didn’t realize he’d already made up his mind when he said, “He can stay as long as he wants.”

Dean still wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with the cabin, but now it was clear that he couldn’t just sell it. He couldn’t throw Castiel out. Castiel, who had somehow wormed his way into Dean’s life without meaning to, and now it looked like he was there to stay.

Dean still didn’t know what exactly was happening, but for once in his life, he didn’t particularly care. This wasn’t like stumbling in the fog that had surrounded him during the last months – instead, he felt like the fog had cleared, and he’d found a path with no road signs, and he wanted to explore that route. It was a strange thought, but Dean rolled with it.

 

* * *

 

When Dean came back, Castiel was still sitting on the couch, but he wasn’t reading anymore; instead, he had a laptop balanced over his knees, and he was squinting at the screen in the most adorable manner, like the whole concept of computers eluded him.

Dean shook the thought out of his head.

“Hiya,” he said, placing the grocery bag on the ground. “Watching Netflix again?”

“What?” Castiel lifted his eyes from the screen, apparently only now noticing Dean. “Oh. No, I’m working.”

“Working? You work?”

“How else did you think I could support myself?” Castiel asked. He sounded amused, and even if he was laughing at Dean, Dean was glad to see that small smile.

“I keep thinking of you as a hermit. You know, old school, living in the middle of a forest, cursing at everyone who dares to come close.”

“I don’t oppose to being a hermit. Maybe more ‘new school,’ though,” Castiel countered. Dean had to suppress a smile when he saw Castiel using air quotes. “A hermit with an internet and a Netflix addiction.”

Dean snorted. “Sign me up for that kind of hermit-hood.”

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now. Because I said so.”

Castiel gave him an amused look. “Of course, Dean.”

“So, hey, what kind of work can you do here?”

“I’m a freelance writer. It doesn’t pay much, but enough so that I can stay here.”

“Should’ve guessed that,” Dean said. He really needed to let go of this image of Castiel as a shut-in hermit. Like the grocery store cashier had said, Cas was just a little down on his luck. And a little eccentric. You had to be, if you ended up in the middle of nowhere and considered living in a cabin with no car a good choice.

Dean left Castiel to work in peace, and started to work on the pasta. It was a little early for dinner, but he figured he could leave the sauce to simmer for as long as needed. Castiel barely stilled from his place on the couch while Dean worked, and when Dean was done, he wandered in and out of the bedroom for a moment, not knowing what to do. He hadn’t taken anything with him for entertainment (except his phone), and he didn’t want to disturb Castiel, since Cas seemed to be absorbed in whatever he was writing.

In the end, Dean took one of Bobby’s old mythology books from the shelf, one that he remembered leafing through as a kid, and gingerly settled on the couch, on the opposite end from Cas. Castiel didn’t spare a single look at him, tapping away on his laptop, so Dean opened the book and started to read.

The rain had barely paused after Dean had driven back from the town, and it started again now. It was stronger this time, relentlessly pounding against the roof, and after a while, it became pleasant background noise. It was soothing, in a way, to just sit and listen to the way the rain drummed against the roof.

“Have you watched this?” Castiel suddenly asked, startling Dean out of his thoughts.

“What?”

Dean let his book close (it hadn’t been as captivating as it had been when he was a kid, anyway), and Castiel turned the laptop so that Dean could see the screen. The internet was open on Netflix, and Castiel was pointing at the title.

“ _Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries_?” Dean gave a little laugh. “That’s an awful title. What is this?”

“You don’t like murder mysteries?” Castiel asked.

“Well, I mean, I don’t hate them or anything, just…” Dean didn’t know why he was even protesting. He knew nothing about the series, except that on the screen, a woman in a fabulous dress and 1920s style hair was smiling at the camera, effortlessly confident. She looked like someone Dean definitely would have tried to hit on, if he ever saw her in a bar. And if he was brave enough. She also looked like she could eat him alive and spit his heart out, and Dean had always liked women (and men, his traitorous mind added) who looked like they could tear him apart and then put him back together.

“What’s it about?” Dean asked then. “Except murders, obviously.”

“Why don’t we find out?” Castiel asked. It was the small smile that did it – Dean was physically unable to say no, when Castiel looked excited like that.

They ended up watching two episodes of _Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries_ , and despite his hesitations, Dean ended up liking it. Although, he could have just liked sitting next to Castiel on the couch, just relaxing and existing in the same space. Dean tried to keep a civil distance between them at all times, but somehow, when they finally paused the series to eat, Castiel had drifted so close to him that their thighs briefly rubbed together when they stood up. Dean flinched away, and tried to will his heart to stop beating so erratically.

He wasn’t supposed to react that way. He wasn’t _supposed_ to.

But he did, and that was the problem.

 

* * *

 

“So what do you write?” Dean asked when they’d settled down to eat. “Blogs? Novels? Short stories?”

“Articles for nature magazines,” Castiel said. For a second, Dean thought that it had been a joke, with Castiel’s deadpan delivery, but apparently, Cas was wholly serious.

“They pay you for…bird watching?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Castiel said. “Other times, I write about hunting. Where to go, how to work with your dog. Gun reviews, that sort of stuff.”

“Uh.” Dean blinked. “Gun reviews? People ask for those?”

“More than I would like to write,” Castiel muttered. “I don’t have time to do test shoots as often as they’d like.”

“You actually test those?”

Castiel gave him a strange look. “Of course. How could I review them otherwise?”

“I—never mind,” Dean said. He didn’t know why the image of Castiel holding a gun was weirdly attractive. Maybe it had something to do with his unassuming complexion – he didn’t look the type, until you realized that he was exactly the type.

Dean changed the topic to avoid thinking about certain uncomfortable truths about himself.

“So, I talked to the cashier at the grocery store today.”

“Oh, Mildred?”

“I guess. She said you avoided Bobby.”

Dean hadn’t meant it to come out so accusingly, but even if it did, Castiel didn’t seem bothered by his tone.

“I did,” Castiel admitted. “I didn’t want to risk confronting him. He might’ve wanted me gone. It was easier to pretend my intrusion here was okay.”

“You think Bobby would’ve thrown you out? Nah, man. If he let you stay this long, it was intentional. He probably would’ve offered you a job as a groundskeeper or something if he ever met you. He got a bleedin’ heart, even if he acted like he didn’t.”

“You must miss him.”

“Like hell,” Dean muttered after a silence. Castiel nodded, eyes trained on Dean.

“Would you tell me about him?”

Dean couldn’t speak for a moment. He recalled Jody’s words – “if you ever want to talk about him, I’ll be here to listen” – but he had taken those as a sign of pity. Even if he knew that his brain was wired wrong and Jody hadn’t meant it like that, that she had just wanted to offer a chance to remember Bobby, Dean couldn’t have brought himself to talk about Bobby with her. It was too recent, too fresh a wound.

But when Castiel looked at him, earnestly, not pitying, just wanting to know about the man who had let him stay at his house without ever meeting him, Dean couldn’t refuse. For the first time, he wanted to talk about all the stupid things he’d gotten up with Bobby and tell Cas what he’d missed, what kind of grouchily caring person Bobby had been.

“He wasn’t really my uncle,” Dean started. “Not by blood. But in every other way. When my real dad was going on another one of his benders, Bobby was the one who took care of me and Sammy.”

Castiel didn’t ask about his mother, and Dean was grateful for that. He would tell him someday, but not today. It was another can of worms he didn’t want to open right now.

“He took me hunting, once,” Dean said, a smile creeping across his face when he remembered how awful holding the shotgun had been. It had been far too big for Dean’s lanky teenage hands, and he would have rather shot beer cans than animals. “I couldn’t pull the trigger, when the time came. He said he never should’ve shown me _Bambi_ when I was little. And when we went back to his place, he put the movie on. Somehow, he still had the video lying around.”

“Weren’t you angry?”

“What?”

“It sounds like he was mocking you.”

“No, you misunderstand. Well, I mean, he was kind of mocking me, but… We watched it together. I was fourteen or something, so everything every adult did was embarrassing, but we still watched it and we both cried.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Damn movie gets me every time.”

“I can’t watch _Dumbo_ ,” Castiel revealed, almost casually. Dean laughed at that. “I’ve seen it twice. I cried uncontrollably for hours after both times.”

“But it has a happy ending!”

“I was seven when I lost my mother,” Castiel said. “It was the first movie I saw after her death.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I’d rather never watch it again. It’s too painful.”

Dean looked down at the table. “My mom died when I was four.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, but even without words, Dean knew that he understood.

After the heavy talk, they moved on to cheerier subjects. Dean found it easy to talk about all the stupid stuff Bobby had done, and making Castiel laugh with it was the perfect reward for trudging up some of the more painful memories. At some point, Castiel asked about Sam.

“You said Bobby left the cabin for you,” he said, pouring Dean more tea. After the dinner, they’d cleared the table and moved onto drinking tea and eating cookies Castiel had stashed over the cupboards. “What about Sam? Didn’t he want to come by to check this out?”

“Well, uh,” Dean swallowed, “that’s kinda complicated.”

“How so?”

“Bobby left this for me only. I’m the sole beneficiary.” Dean sighed. “It’s not Sam’s fault, not really. And it’s not Bobby’s fault, either. They just weren’t as much in touch as we were.”

“Why’s that?”

Dean placed his tea cup on the table and took a moment to focus his thoughts.

“Sam was just a baby when Mom died, and Dad went off the rails almost immediately after that. He’s never known Dad as anything but a wreck. Bobby took care of us when we were little, but when Sam was nine, Dad got into one fight too much, and that’s when CPS came knocking.”

“I can guess what happened next,” Castiel said.

“Whatever you guessed, that’s wrong,” Dean sighed. “Social services came to check us out, but only Sammy was placed in foster care.”

“How…?”

“‘Cause they found Sam living under a bridge.”

Castiel blinked.

“Sammy had ran away, and he’d done that lots of times before. He was four or five, I don’t even remember, when he ran away the first time. He didn’t like being at home, and it only got worse the older he got. He pretty much communicated with Dad by staying silent or screaming at the top of his lungs.” Dean huffed. “Dad didn’t even notice that he was gone, most of the time. And when he noticed, it was my fault, and I had to go out looking for Sam.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed at that, but some things were still so ingrained in Dean that he couldn’t blame Dad for that. It had been Dean’s job to look after Sam, and when Sam had run off, it was obviously Dean’s fault. But time and distance had at least given him some perspective on how fucked up their home life had been. Dean couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he now wished that he’d ran off as well – it might’ve given him a different kind of life. Maybe they would have gotten help sooner. Maybe Dad would have actually put in effort and changed.

“Anyway,” Dean coughed, when it looked like Cas would start a fiery speech, “They deemed Sammy the problem child. Said that Sam had trouble ‘adjusting to his environment,’ whatever the fuck that meant. Dad didn’t care, didn’t fight them at all, so they took Sam and left me.”

“Why would—”

“Hey, I was a teenager, and no one wants a difficult teenager. Besides, I had never ran away or complained, so clearly, everything was sunshine and daisies with me. Guess they figured I’d take care of myself and Dad until I hit eighteen and could move out.”

“Dean…that’s…”

“Don’t say it.” Dean waved his hand. “It was what it was. So anyway, Sam was awesome with his foster family, but they were kinda strict, and didn’t let Sammy visit us. I had to visit them. And, well, they were right about that. Dad wasn’t the best person to be around. At least Sam was spared from that.”

Castiel stayed quiet, but Dean could sense the disapproval radiating off of him, so he continued.

“And, well, since Dad was a mess, Bobby took me in once in a while. I pretty much grew up with him from fourteen to eighteen. He was…” _The best father I never had_ , Dean wanted to add, but didn’t. “Anyway, since Sam grew up with his foster family and not Bobby, I guess they never reconnected as well. They met up, sometimes, you know, family obligations and such, but…I’m the one who went to the hospital when they took Bobby off life support.”

There was a silence for a moment.

“I think I understand,” Castiel said then. “Sam has his own family. Bobby was yours.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. They didn’t speak for a long time after that.

Surprisingly, the time had flown by, and before either of them noticed, they needed to improvise a supper, and then it was after ten o’clock. Dean had no idea how they could have passed the hours so quickly, just sitting at the table and talking. Even with Lisa, Dean didn’t think he’d ever felt it so easy to trust another human being.

Dean brushed his teeth first and when he came out of the bathroom, Castiel was by the door, patiently waiting. He was already clad in only his boxers and a t-shirt, and Dean remembered the thin mattress in the loft and how dark the bags under Castiel’s eyes had been this morning.

He waited until Castiel came out of the bathroom. Cas seemed confused that Dean was still standing by the door, and stepped to the side to let Dean pass, but Dean shook his head.

“Hey, uh.” Dean paused, then started again. He knew what he wanted to say; it was just a matter of how to say it. He didn’t want Castiel to feel obligated or insulted. “You don’t have to sleep in the loft, you know.”

“I don’t?” Castiel asked. Dean got the feeling that Cas knew what Dean was going to say – he just wanted to hear Dean say it.

So he did. “You can sleep in the bedroom, too. Plenty of space for both of us, right? It’s a big bed.”

“I don’t know about that,” Castiel said. His lips curved into a small smirk. “It might shrink the more time we spend there.”

“Cas, sheesh,” Dean laughed. “Just get in the bed. No need to seduce me before that.”

“Alright,” Cas said. He followed Dean as they started to walk to the bedroom, slowly, as if they were both rethinking the decision.

“I might want to, though,” Castiel quietly said then. Dean’s breath hitched, and he swallowed down the reply he didn’t have.

The bed was situated so that the right side of it was against the wall. Dean crawled in first, nearly touching the wall as he turned to his back, and stared at the ceiling, not seeing anything as he listened Castiel slide into the bed after him. There was only one blanket, but it was more than big enough for them both. Dean was hyper aware of the space between their bodies, the gulf they left between them, and the emptiness the blanket covered, and when Castiel shifted, Dean had to turn his head towards the wall.

Castiel turned the light off, and then there was only darkness, and the sound of their slow breaths.

“Night, Cas,” Dean murmured into the darkness.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel said. He was closer than Dean had anticipated, and Dean shivered when he felt the warm air brush against his ear. Dean swallowed, but he didn’t move away.

This was what he’d wanted, after all. In the darkness, it felt easier to stop pretending.


	4. Day 4

**_Day 4_ **

Dean had woken up at some point of the night, to the feeling of someone holding him. He had turned to his side in his sleep, towards the wall, and somehow, Castiel’s arm was now resting over his hip. Dean had stayed awake for a moment, heart pounding, fearing that moving would wake Castiel up, but Cas had continued to quietly sniffle in his sleep. Dean had fallen back asleep slowly, not even pretending that he didn’t like sleeping like this. He had missed this – in fact, after Lisa had left him, getting used to sleeping alone again had been the worst part.

To his dismay, when he woke up again, Castiel wasn’t there. Blearily, Dean turned to his other side, feeling around, but couldn’t locate Castiel. It was silly to feel like he’d been discarded after a one-night stand – usually, he did the discarding, disappearing before the girl could wake up, because he would’ve embarrassed himself by wanting to stay just for another round of cuddling – and besides, Castiel was hardly a one-night stand. More like a strange roommate who refused to leave, but one that was impossible to be angry with, since he was so charming.

Dean groaned as he got up. Sleep clutched his eyes, and he had to flop back down and rub his eyes before he finally got up. The trail of coffee in the air managed to lure him into the kitchen, still in his t-shirt and boxers.

“Coffee?” Castiel asked the second Dean stepped outside of the bedroom. Still having a little trouble focusing his eyes on anything, it took Dean a few tries to understand that Castiel had already poured him a cup, and was offering it to Dean.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered. He took the offered cup, and took a sip. Castiel smiled at him as he did this, and for a strange moment, they remained standing in the kitchen, hovering closer to each other than what was necessary.

Dean drifted even closer, lifting his cup to show it. “Need more.”

“You didn’t even finish that yet.”

“Still. Need more.”

Castiel huffed, and turned to the stove to take the pot and pour Dean more coffee. “I thought you’d be better at waking up than I am.”

“Well, I’m not,” Dean grouched, lifting the cup to his lips again. “God. I really didn’t want to get up.”

“If it helps, I didn’t want to get up, either.”

“Then maybe we should’ve stayed in bed,” Dean muttered. He wasn’t even embarrassed when he realized what he’d said. He meant it.

Castiel gave him an amused look, but didn’t comment on that. Instead, he ushered Dean to sit down and placed a huge plate of bacon and eggs in front of him.

“You didn’t have to make me breakfast,” Dean said. He grinned as he dug in. “I already said I’m not gonna throw you out, Cas. You don’t have to butter me up.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Castiel said, quietly. “And I know I didn’t _have_ to. I wanted to.”

Dean couldn’t say anything to that.

For once, Dean witnessed Castiel actually eat breakfast. They sat opposite of each other, both eating bacon and eggs, and drinking coffee in silence. Once in a while, Dean shifted his legs, and his toes brushed against Cas’s, making Castiel look up from his meal and throw a small smile at Dean that made his heart flutter. Dean wasn’t sure what was happening – or, well, he knew what was happening, perfectly well. He just didn’t understand how they’d ended up here, and what the next step would be.

“So, what’s the plan today?” Dean asked when they’d finished breakfast. “Hiking in the woods again?”

“If you’d like,” Castiel said. He gathered the dishes and placed them in the sink, but before he could start washing them, Dean shot up from his seat.

“No, man, let me do that.”

Castiel sighed, but let Dean take over.

“You need to boil water,” he reminded Dean.

“Yeah, okay, mom,” Dean muttered. He didn’t want to admit that he’d forgotten about that, yet again. The cabin had pipes for cold water, with the water taken from the lake, but if you needed hot water, you needed to separately heat it. Dean had forgotten that on his first morning here and had had a shock in the shower.

Castiel returned to sit at the table, and waited while Dean started to heat water. Maybe he wanted to check that Dean wasn’t setting the kitchen on fire, or maybe he just wanted to look at Dean. Either way, Dean found his cheeks heating up.

“Okay, so, what do you want to do today? I’ve got nothing.”

“I need to work for a few hours,” Castiel said. “But after that, I’m all yours.”

“Um.” Dean flushed at the earnest look Castiel was wearing – it was a little embarrassing, the way Castiel would just say things in that unguarded way of his, but Dean didn’t doubt for a moment that he didn’t mean them.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something,” Castiel added, leaving it at that.

Dean had slight trouble concentrating on doing the dishes with Castiel watching him, but after a while, Cas left him alone, moving to the couch to work. Dean did the dishes, listening to the rhythm of Castiel’s typing, and got that strange, calm feeling again. Like he had nothing to worry about.

True to his word, Castiel worked for a few hours, curled up on the sofa with his laptop. Dean didn’t want to disturb whatever love story Cas and his laptop had going on, so he went out for a bit. The rain had finally stopped last night, and the skies were clear, now; in fact, the sun was shining and in direct sunlight, it actually felt like summer. Dean slowly walked in the vicinity of the cabin, enjoying the weather and taking in his little kingdom. He had to admit, it was kind of funny: in just a few days, he’d gone from adamantly wanting to sell the place to wanting to keep it, simply because of Castiel. He had no idea what to do with the cabin in the future, but if Castiel had anything to say about it…

Dean wandered around the house, itching to do something, and then found the perfect solution. He’d stopped in front of the firewood shed, and beside it, there was a chopping block and the axe Castiel had been carrying the first time they’d met. Dean snickered at the memory – it was a rather comical image, now that he thought about it.

Dean picked up the axe, tried its weight, and then set out to split wood. Either Bobby – or Castiel, more likely – had cut down a tree at some point, and there was a pile of huge logs next to the shed. It would take ages to cut all the wood, but Dean started to do it anyway. He brought the axe down, barely making a scratch on the log, and tried again. It was tiring, and yet, felt much more satisfying than completing a weekly marketing report at work. His arms got tired quickly, but Dean carried on, splitting wood after wood, smiling all the while.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean yelled. He almost dropped the axe, but managed to recover it just in time. Dropping an axe on his foot in the middle of a forest would be the end of him. Or, more likely, the end of his foot.

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Castiel walked around him, looking at the pile of wood he’d cut.

“How long have you been standing there?” Dean asked. He realized only now how sweaty he was, and tried to hide that realization by putting his arms down. No one liked to see armpit sweat.

“A while,” Castiel said with a smile. “That looks like some sort of therapy.”

“Maybe it is,” Dean said.

“Your technique is horrible, by the way.”

“Hey!” Dean ground his teeth, although in reality, he wasn’t as insulted as he made out. “You think you’re better than me, hermit?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and raised his palm. Wordlessly, Dean handed him the axe, and stepped aside. He had to focus his gaze on the axe instead of Castiel’s arms when Cas brought the axe up, and then effortlessly swung it down, neatly splitting the log that Dean had had trouble with.

“Show-off,” Dean muttered, even if he was impressed.

“Who do you think made all these?” Castiel asked, smirking a little as he gestured towards the neat lines of firewood in the shed.

“You’ve just had more practice than I have.”

“Exactly,” Castiel said. He placed the axe down, resting it against the chopping block.

“I just wanted to do something with my hands,” Dean said.

“Oh?” Castiel asked, in a tone that said that he understood perfectly what Dean’s state of mind was. “In that case, I have a more challenging project for you.”

Castiel gestured Dean to come with him, and curious, Dean followed him. They rounded the house, stopping in front of the ladder that rested against the wall, serving as sort of a fire escape. Dean remembered Bobby placing the ladder near the upstairs window, and explaining to Dean and Sam what to do if a fire broke out and they couldn’t get out from the inside. Dean still remembered the sick feeling he’d gotten in his stomach when that topic had come up; Sam was too young to remember, but Dean could still recall every awful detail of the house fire that had claimed the life of his mother, and the soul of his father. It was a story he’d been telling himself night after night, until he remembered every nook and corner of their old house and the route he’d taken out of the building before it collapsed.

“The roof needs fixing,” Castiel said, and Dean shook the images of fire out of his head.

“What are you talking about? Me and Bobby just fixed it!” At Castiel’s pointed look, Dean continued, “Fifteen years ago. So basically just yesterday!”

“It leaks,” Castiel said. “I was supposed to fix it, but then you arrived.”

“Blaming me, are you?” Dean grinned.

“Naturally. Now, scapegoat, will you help me or not?”

Dean couldn’t refuse. Together, they climbed up to the roof, and set out to work. It wasn’t as tedious as it had been the last time Dean had fixed the roof, with Bobby; Castiel was careful but swift in his movements, but Dean didn’t have to struggle to keep up with him. They talked while they worked, sometimes so much that they needed to pause the work completely. At one point, Dean made Castiel laugh by shouting, “I’m the king of the world!” at the top of his lungs, standing on top of the roof. That moment ended rather embarrassingly, when Dean nearly lost his balance, and Castiel had to grab him by the waist. Somehow, even that didn’t make Dean regret the stunt.

Dean didn’t have anything planned for dinner, so they took an advantage of the canned foods Castiel had stocked in the kitchen. Improvising a little, they managed to make a passable tuna casserole. Dean cooked, but Castiel kept hovering at his backside again, handing Dean whatever dish or utensil he was missing. It was almost like a strange dance, the way the circled around each other in the small space, not quite touching, but not avoiding contact, either.

After dinner, they settled on the couch to watch _Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries_ on Cas’s laptop again. Dean grumbled through two episodes again, even though he secretly liked them, and then, to balance things out, introduced Castiel to the wonderfully ridiculous world of _Top Gear_. They spent perhaps too much time sitting on the couch, drifting closer and closer as they leaned against each other to comment on what was happening at the screen. By the end of the last episode, their thighs were nestled together again, and Dean had happy glow in his heart because of that. He was an easy guy to please.

Dean excused himself to go to the outhouse at some point, and when he came back, Castiel was climbing down the loft ladder with his bag in tow.

“You going somewhere?” Dean asked. He had a short, silly thought that Castiel was leaving, but that made no sense.

“Well, if we’re to share a bed, I should move my things downstairs,” Castiel stated, hopping off the ladder.

“Uh.” Dean blanked out for a second. It almost felt like they were moving in together. “Yeah, um, sure. Want me to help?”

“There’s not much,” Castiel said, hesitantly. “I…everything I own is in here.” He patted the bag, slung low on his shoulder.

“That’s all you own?” Dean asked. “But you’ve been here for three years.”

“As I said, this isn’t really mine.” He didn’t sound upset about that, but even if Dean had opened his mouth to argue, he didn’t have time for that. “You haven’t seen the loft yet, have you?”

“No. Your secrets are safe.”

“There’s nothing secret about my things,” Castiel said. “But there’s something you need to see.”

Dean hadn’t wanted to intrude, but now that Castiel was offering to show him around, he accepted. Castiel placed the bag on the ground and gestured Dean to climb up to the loft after him. Dean might have stolen a few glances at Castiel’s ass, but in his defense, it did look fantastic, even in run-down jeans.

The loft was, for once, just as Dean remembered it from his childhood. This was the one place Castiel hadn’t altered, at least not much, by his presence. It was cleaner, no dust covering the floorboards, but still the same, dark loft where Dean and Sam had slept side by side. It felt smaller, but that was to be expected. The loft was bare, and the only things in there were a mattress, placed in the middle of the floor, and a few drawers against the wall. Bobby had kept sheets and clothes in them, Dean remembered.

The only new addition was on top of the drawers. There was a pile of photo albums stacked on them, and Castiel went to retrieve one. Dean thought he knew what to expect, but still wasn’t prepared when Castiel opened the photo album on a random page and showed it to Dean.

There he was, little Dean with his baseball cap screwed, playing catch with Sammy in a black-and-white picture. Dean stared at it, momentarily transported back to the moment when the picture had been taken, and vividly remembered laughing as he threw the ball so high that Sam didn’t have a chance to catch it.

Castiel handed him the album and a bit dazed, Dean took it and started to leaf through it. The front page only had the years written on it in Bobby’s handwriting, but inside the album was a different story. His breath hitched when he saw how carefully the album had been made: each picture had been placed there lovingly, following Dean and Sam through the years. It also had a couple of shots about Bobby, one of John, others of Rufus and Jody visiting the cabin, and other friends of Bobby’s that Dean didn’t recognize or who had already passed away.

Gingerly, Dean put the album back on top of the drawer, and picked up another one. This one was exclusively about him and Sam: them growing up through the years, and not just about them at the cabin. Dean hadn’t even known Bobby had taken so many pictures of him – he’d been a grumpy teenager and had avoided the camera, but somehow, Bobby had managed to capture all of his awkward phases. Even Sam hadn’t avoided the camera: the pictures followed them all the way up to adulthood, even to recent years. Under each picture there was a date and a short description of the people in the picture and where they were. It was so impeccably done that Dean could hardly believe Bobby had put this much effort into it.

“So this is how you knew about Sammy,” Dean muttered. “About us.”

They stood side by side, Dean still turning the pages of the album, and Castiel watching over his shoulder. There was a short silence.

“I don’t have a family,” Castiel muttered then. “Or at least, not one that counts. It was nice to see someone who has all that…all that love.”

“Cas…”

“I used to imagine what they might do together. What kind of different personalities they had. How they would get along despite their differences.” Castiel shrugged. “It was a nice story to tell myself.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. He had never known the kind of loneliness echoed in Castiel’s voice. Even during the worst of times, he’d always had someone he could count on – his Dad, as awful as he’d been at times, then Bobby, and Sam, then his friends. But Castiel sounded like he’d never had that kind of support system.

“It’s nicer to get to know the real people in the pictures, though,” Castiel added then.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean swayed into Castiel’s space, and nudged him with his shoulder. Castiel pressed against him, and they stayed there for a long while, watching how Dean grew up in the pictures.


	5. Day 5

**_Day 5_ **

It was raining when Dean woke up. The air in the room felt cold, but Dean was pleasantly warm under the covers and with Castiel pressed closely against his back. Dean let his eyelids flutter shut, and tried to return to sleep, since there was no incentive to get up just yet. He was comfortable, and could pretend for a moment longer that this was the norm, that this was how he woke up every morning.

They’d crashed on the bed very late last night, after looking through most of the photo albums Bobby had made and talking until they couldn’t keep their eyes open. Dean had rarely talked as much about his childhood as he had there, and it was just as rare that it had felt good to do so. Cas didn’t judge (well, he judged a little, seeing as his eyes narrowed every time Dean mentioned a time Dad had left him and Sam on their own), and he was almost overly fascinated about Dean’s childhood, his attention never wavering. (Dean might’ve liked those blue on him more than he could admit, and it also might’ve been the reason why he’d babbled on and on about things no one else would have cared about, but Castiel had still listened.) Despite Dean sharing almost every detail of his childhood and teenager years and even his college years, Castiel hadn’t revealed his own history in any way. Dean still had no idea who Cas really was or where he came from, but somehow, it didn’t bother Dean. At least not much. He had to admit that there was a tingling doubt accompanying the certainty that came with knowing how kind, considerate and intelligent Cas was – what was the history behind all that?

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, and he sighed. He couldn’t get back to sleep, even if he was as comfortable as he could be. His thoughts were whirring round and round. Better to get up and chase the drowsiness away with coffee, then.

Except Cas wouldn’t let go of him. Somehow, Castiel had managed to plaster himself so well against Dean’s back and wound his arm so tightly against Dean that when Dean tried to wriggle away, Castiel inevitably woke up.

“Where you goin’?” Cas muttered, his breath coming in warm puffs against Dean’s neck.

“To make some coffee,” Dean said, but he stopped moving.

“G’mff,” Castiel muttered, or something to that effect. Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“Morning to you, too.”

“‘S too early for that.”

“I highly doubt that,” Dean said.

“Stay,” Cas muttered. “For a while longer,” he added, after a pregnant pause.

Dean swallowed. “For a while longer,” he repeated, and was immediately rewarded by Cas nudging against him, warm lips pressing a kiss to his neck. Cas’s arms around him sneaked upwards, and smiling, Dean met him halfway, lacing their fingers together over his chest.

This was something that he could really get used to, Dean mused as he listened to the absolute silence of the cabin and Castiel’s relaxed breaths. His hand felt hot where Castiel’s fingers were slotted in between his, but that had nothing to do with how warm it was under the blanket and everything to do with their proximity. Dean hadn’t skipped many things about his childhood and teenage years when he’d recounted them to Cas yesterday, but the ugly memory of how his Dad had found him kissing Aaron Bass on the living room couch was one of those. The utter contempt and barely concealed fury as Dad had thrown Aaron out and warned Dean not to do “stupid stuff like that again” was so burned in his soul that Dean still felt like it glowed like a damn beacon of failure in him.

But Dean could hardly recall his Dad’s angry voice now, safely in Cas’s arms and out of the sight of everyone, hidden in a dusty old cabin far from everything. Dean smiled; maybe he could get so used to this that the nasty memories would leave him alone.

Dean mustered up his courage. “This is nice,” he finally managed to say.

There was no answer, but then a muffled snort came against Dean’s neck. Dean had already become so accustomed with Cas’s noises that it was easy to interpret. Cas had fallen asleep.

“Figures,” Dean muttered. “Oh well.”

He burrowed into the blankets, and dozed off again.

 

* * *

 

It was well after ten o’clock when they finally got up and left the bed, but Dean didn’t feel the usual pang of guilt that came whenever he had a late morning like this in his own apartment. Maybe it was easier in the cabin, cut off from his usual life, to behave like this.

Dean made them breakfast, insisting that they were in need of pancakes, and Castiel didn’t protest. He disappeared down to the basement and fetched a jar of raspberry jam, which apparently had been there for a while – “waiting for the right moment,” Castiel said, flashing a smile that left Dean unable to concentrate on anything for a full minute.

It felt almost cheesy, eating pancakes for breakfast, and if Dean had been any more daring, he would’ve asked if he could feed Cas a bite or two. But eating opposite of each other, stealing glances, and talking about nothing in particular, was good too. Dean felt his heart protest violently when Castiel got jam on the corner of his mouth, and Dean dared to lean forward and brush his thumb against his skin, with the excuse that he was cleaning the spot away. Castiel didn’t seem to mind much, judging by the quirk of a smile he gave Dean.

Dean did the dishes again, not having planned anything for today, and Castiel wandered out of the house for a while, coming back with firewood. They worked in silence for a while, Dean washing the dishes and Cas stacking up their supply of wood in front of the fireplace, and Dean didn’t think he’d been as calm as this in weeks. It was strange.

It took Dean longer to finish the dishes than it took for Cas to stack the wood, and when Dean finally was drying the last fork, Cas was already settling down on the couch.

“Working again?” Dean asked when Cas plopped down on the couch with his laptop.

“Yes,” Cas simply said, opening his laptop. “I still have five-hundred words to go.”

“Sounds a lot.”

“It’s not,” Castiel assured him. “Just boring work.”

“Thought you liked your work.”

“Depends,” Cas said, absently clicking open documents on his laptop, “The mating habits of bears become tiresome after two-thousand words.”

“Uh. If you say so.” Dean wondered why on earth anyone would even want to read about bears mating for two-thousand and five hundred words, but if Cas was being paid for that…

He finished putting the dishes away and realized that he was just puttering around in the kitchen for no other reason than stalling at this point, so he stopped, taking a few steps towards the couch.

“Mind me keeping you company?” Dean asked. He didn’t know why he was so nervous – it was just sitting down next to Cas, not proposing a marriage.

“Not at all,” Castiel said, glancing up from his laptop. When Dean didn’t move, he patted the place next to him on the couch. “As long as you don’t distract me too much.”

“I’ll try not to,” Dean said. Castiel muttered something akin to “we’ll see about that,” but Dean wasn’t sure had he heard right, so he said nothing in return.

Dean had spied all the _Harry Potter_ novels in the shelf some time ago, and since he was certain Cas was the one who had brought them here and thus, wouldn’t judge Dean for (re-)reading them, he went to get the first one. Cas glanced at his reading choice when he sat down on the couch, but aside from a fleeting smile, didn’t comment on it, and Dean settled down to read. He deliberately chose to sit much closer to Cas than before, so that they couldn’t help but brush against each other. It felt easier to do this each time he did it, and the confidence he usually felt with women was starting to trickle into his interactions with Cas, as well. Dean decided that it was a good thing – he was usually hopeless with men, an awkward, stammering mess, not to mention constantly battling the inner voice than kept telling him that it wasn’t right. But now, all thoughts that resembled his Dad’s usual tirades had left, and Dean felt totally at ease as he brushed against Cas.

Castiel kept tapping away on his laptop, and Dean stole a glance to see how word after word appeared on the open document, before turning to his book. Cas was obviously busy working, so Dean opened his book and started to read.

Time passed slowly like that; Dean was distracted once in a while by Cas’s arm brushing against his, but that was what he’d wanted, so he counted these little touches as a blessing. He made slow progress of his book, and the reveal that Harry was a wizard had never felt to be this far away.

Dean had managed to re-focus on the story so much that the next time Cas moved, he was puzzled. Cas closed the lid on his laptop and slowly placed it on the small coffee table before them. Dean swallowed as he watched this, and then quickly turned his attention back to the book, although he couldn’t concentrate on Harry’s musings about Diagon Alley.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean’s heart jumped.

“Uh-huh?”

Cas fell silent, and Dean didn’t dare to take his eyes off the page, although he couldn’t even see the words anymore.

Then Dean felt Castiel press his lips against his throat, and Dean dropped his book. Every single passing thought Dean had came to a halt, and he could concentrate on nothing else but the gentle way Cas was inching downwards with his lips, the touch echoing on Dean’s skin.

“Cas,” Dean managed, but then his throat closed up, and he couldn’t say any more.

When Castiel’s palm made contact with his stomach, Dean swallowed, and his muscles jumped. It wasn’t a surprising move, though – it felt like they’d been edging towards this for days now, and Castiel was simply steering things towards their correct path. Dean immediately relaxed, turning towards Cas.

“Alright?” Castiel murmured, his hand gently pressing against Dean, and when Dean nodded, unable to say anything, Cas started to slowly slide his hand downwards. His fingers curled against Dean’s t-shirt, then slipped under the hem, and Dean couldn’t help a gasp when those long fingers changed course and slid under his waistband. Dean stared as Castiel’s hand disappeared under his jeans, toying with the hem of his boxers, and then slipping underneath them, too.

Dean swallowed again, and his hips thrust forward, bumping against Cas’s arm. Satisfying sparks flew up Dean’s body, and he did it again, letting out another gasp. Cas brought his other hand to Dean’s crotch, slowly undoing the button on his jeans and then tugging the zipper. Dean couldn’t stop staring when Cas pulled the zipper down, giving them more space to move against each other.

Then Castiel’s hand under his boxers moved confidently down and closed around him, and Dean let out an embarrassing whine.

“This okay?” Cas muttered against his throat, and Dean nodded furiously several times in a row, bumping against Cas’s nose – he didn’t trust his voice to speak.

Castiel’s hand started to move up and down on Dean’s length, gently urging Dean to move, and when his thumb caressed the head of his cock, Dean couldn’t help but jump a little forward and let out an involuntary whine. God, it had been so long since someone had touched him, and…and it had been more than a decade since that someone other had been a _man_. Dean felt hypersensitive, like his skin was committing to memory every valley and every ridge of Cas’s palm, like every little movement Cas made and urged him to make was too much, and not enough at the same time.

“That’s it,” Cas muttered. He said it so quietly that Dean guessed he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but Dean relaxed even further at those words. He thrust into Cas’s hand, breathing heavily, and turned his face towards Cas, trying to kiss whatever part of Cas he could reach.

“Cas, let me…let me—”

“Alright,” Cas murmured, and eased his grip on Dean. Dean gathered his breath for a moment, and then, surprised that his hands weren’t shaking as much as he feared they would, he opened Cas’s jeans and slipped his hand inside Cas’s boxers.

“Seriously, what’s with the orange?” Dean asked. He couldn’t help himself – this was the second pair of orange boxers Dean had seen Cas wear.

“Huh?” Cas muttered, letting out a huff of breath when Dean started to stroke him. Dean pressed his face into Cas’s, letting his lips wander from Cas’s temple to his cheek. Cas turned his face towards Dean, making it a strange, magnetic dance – their lips never touched, but were always on the verge of that, pressing kisses to cheeks and corners of mouth and noses.

“They were on sale,” Cas said then, and Dean laughed.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, doubling his efforts when Cas let out a wonderful moan. Cas’s rhythm picked up, and then his hand on Dean’s cock did as well. Dean gasped, and returned the favor.

“You like it,” Cas countered, and Dean grinned.

“Yeah,” Dean said, pressing another kiss to Cas’s face, “I really do.”

There was no more talking after that; the rhythm picked up, and Dean was unable to control his hips after that. Cas’s hand on him felt large, calloused, and Dean loved every second that they moved against each other. He loved the feel of Cas in his hand, the girth bigger than him, and fleetingly wondered what it would feel like if Cas was rutting against a completely other part of his body.

His orgasm surprised him; it came gradually, until Dean was suddenly there, and he kept rutting against Cas’s hand and panting a long time after he was finished, just to feel Cas touch him. Cas came after him, and Dean felt strangely proud when he removed his hand and saw Cas’s come on his fingers – the proof that he did well.

Dean let his head fall against Cas’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment. Cas didn’t move away, and instead, threw his arm around Dean and held him close. It luckily wasn’t the hand he’d used to jerk Dean off, but even if it had been, Dean wouldn’t have cared a bit at the moment.

“You’re remarkably calm,” Castiel said after a long pause. “I thought…”

“What?”

“That you’d have more trouble accepting this.”

Dean paused. “I’m not gay, Cas. I don’t know much about being with a guy.” He lifted a hand to lazily stroke Castiel’s hair. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.”

Castiel smiled, his head lolling against Dean’s. “Good.”

“That’s it? ‘Good’?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Um. Okay.” Dean swallowed. He straightened up, regretting it instantly when Cas did, too. “That’s all the reaction I’m gonna get?”

“What reaction would you like?” Castiel asked, sounding bemused.

“Well…uh…didn’t you have trouble with—” Dean paused, and then decided he was being stupid and just said, “coming—coming out?”

“Oh.” Castiel’s eyes flickered elsewhere and a fleeting look of pain passed his eyes. “I, I suppose I did. Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?”

“There’s a reason I’m not on speaking terms with my family anymore,” Castiel said, in such a cold voice that Dean knew better than to ask. “But after cutting them out of my life, no.”

“No trouble at all?”

“No trouble with myself, no,” Castiel said. He glanced at Dean, and Dean guessed he wanted to talk about Dean’s self-deprecating habits and issues with accepting himself, but luckily, Cas passed that particular subject over for now. “And since I haven’t been with anyone in…fifteen, yes, fifteen years, no trouble with anyone else, either.”

“Fifteen years?” Dean asked, eyes widening. “Really?”

“Really.”

“No wonder you were so wound up,” Dean said, and Castiel chuckled. Dean leaned closer, lifting his brows. “Wanna do it again?”

Castiel smiled. “Maybe later,” he said, and that held a promise Dean was certain he’d keep.

They kept looking at each other, not cautious or scared, but simply observing, and when Castiel leaned closer and tilted his head, Dean answered immediately. He had a passing, hysterical thought that they’d jerked each other off before sharing a proper kiss, not unlike some of the one-night stands Dean had had. But when Castiel pressed his lips against Dean’s, it was with such tenderness that Dean instantly forgot whatever he’d been thinking about. He still didn’t know what on earth was happening, but the way Cas kissed him…

Maybe that was an answer in itself.


	6. Day 6

**_Day 6_ **

When Dean woke up, he was comfortable and warm, in Castiel’s arms, and for a moment, nothing was wrong in the world. He sleepily snuggled closer, enjoying the way Castiel’s breath tickled his neck, and closed his eyes again.

But then he realized that it was Sunday.

He had to start driving home today.

With a heavy heart, Dean turned away from Castiel’s embrace. He slipped out of the bed – which wasn’t easy, since he was sleeping on the wall side of the bed – and quietly, started to locate his clothes. They’d been thrown haphazardly in every direction last night, in their haste to get to bed. Dean couldn’t help but smile when he thought of last night’s race into bed – not to have sex, but to escape the chilly air and enjoy the shared warmth under the blanket.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Dean jumped, turning around to face Castiel peeking from under the blanket. His hair was even wilder than usual, and his eyes looked bleary. In all honesty, he didn’t look good – or as good as he usually did – but witnessing the grumpiness that was Castiel being woken up sent a pang through Dean’s chest. Dean would miss that look.

“I should get started on breakfast,” Dean said, trying to ignore to hollow it created in his chest.

“Mmm-hmm. Come back to bed,” Castiel muttered. Dean hesitated – he shouldn’t drag this out anymore than what was strictly necessary – but when Cas opened his arms, Dean’s resolve was shaken. Not being able to resist, Dean let his clothes fall on the ground and slipped back into the bed, right into Cas’s embrace. He vaguely thought that this was getting out of hand. He’d known Cas for only six days, and they really didn’t know each other so well that Dean should start missing him. Besides, even when he’d made the decision to get involved with Cas (or had he? It had felt like the choice had been taken out of his hands, and he’d just been hurdling towards the inevitable conclusion), he’d known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this couldn’t last. They had always had a strict timeline working against them: Dean was on a leave from work, and he had a week, at most, to step outside of his usual life and get caught up in Castiel’s strange spell.

Castiel’s fingers slipped into his hair and scratched his scalp, and Dean pressed closer, but it was half-hearted. He couldn’t calm down like he had grown accustomed to, next to Cas. Castiel felt like he was something out of ordinary, out of the usual, like…like he didn’t fit into Dean’s life. Maybe this would all go away the second Dean went back to Kansas, and then he’d just feel silly that he’d ever gotten tangled up in a mess like this. He should get used to that thought. This had been a misstep into an unknown path, and that was all it was: a pause he’d pressed on his life, something that couldn’t last.

“Hey,” Cas said, and Dean sensed from his tone that he was about to start a talk that Dean couldn’t handle, so Dean quickly said,

“Time for breakfast, don’t you think?”

Castiel let his mouth close. His fingers in Dean’s hair ceased their motion, and then Cas withdrew his hand. Dean told himself he didn’t miss it.

“If you say so,” Cas said.

Silently, they rose from the bed and put on their clothes. Dean left the bedroom before Cas, now knowing better where everything was in the kitchen, and started to make porridge. Cas didn’t comment on the choice, and set the table for them.

When the porridge was finished, Dean put it in two bowls and set them down on the table, and silently, they sat down and started to eat. It was silent, the occasional clanking of their spoons against the dishes making the only sound. The longer it went on, the more it started to feel like an actual pressure against Dean’s lungs, until he could no longer stand it.

“It’s Sunday,” Dean said, abruptly. Castiel lifted his eyes from his bowl, and for a moment, it seemed like every other moment earlier this week.

“Yes?”

“I need to go back.”

Castiel looked away. “Of course.”

Dean felt his blood boil. He had known he would have to go back to his usual life, had just argued himself that to get out of bed, out of Cas’s embrace, but to hear it from Cas felt…awful. Like Cas didn’t care at all.

“Don’t—don’t just ‘of course’ me!” Dean snapped. “I…”

“You need to return to your normal life, Dean.” Castiel gave him a small smile. “You said you’d be here for a week. And now you have.”

“I know.” Dean fell silent for a moment. “I just…”

“Yes?”

Dean was silent for a while. The anger poured out of him, and instead, he felt just tired. Whatever he kept telling himself, it wasn’t the truth.

“I don’t want to go back,” Dean finally said. It was almost inaudible, but Cas heard it nonetheless.

Castiel didn’t seem that surprised by Dean’s admission, but still said, “You have your whole life in Kansas, don’t you?”

“Well…yeah, I guess,” Dean said. It was technically true: his job was there. His apartment was there. His friends…well, they weren’t there. Charlie lived in New York. Benny had moved to New Orleans with his wife Andrea a year back. Sam lived in California. His childhood friend Jo was the only one living in Kansas, and even she lived on the other side of it. All the other random friends Dean had managed to make during the years were internet-based. It wasn’t the same thing as being able to go to someone’s house at a moment’s notice.

“Which means you can’t stay,” Castiel said, with a finality that Dean didn’t want to hear.

“It’s not that.”

“Then…?”

“My job is there.”

“Ah.” Castiel looked away, but not before Dean caught the sad look that spread on his face. “That’s important, isn’t it.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

“You don’t sound so sure.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “It’s not actually very interesting,” he admitted then.

“Everyone has poor days in their job. It’s not uncommon.”

“Yeah, I know. Everyone I’ve talked at _Sandover_ hates their job. It’s a common joke, like, hey it’s Monday again, wish it was Friday. But it’s…it’s not like that, I don’t think,” Dean said. “I mean, it would be fine it was hard to do or it sucked every once in a while, I get that. I’ve done jobs before that I only did because I needed money. That’s different.”

“What’s different about this?” Castiel asked. He sounded strangely certain, like he already knew the answer, and it was that tone that made it easier to admit the truth.

He huffed. “I actually hate my job. I _loathe_ it. I don’t want to spend my life selling people what they don’t need and negotiating deals that they don’t understand.”

Castiel was silent for a while. “It sounds like you really should quit, if only for your own sake.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, relieved that Castiel had said it first. “I should quit. But I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s a simple choice.”

“It’s not that easy, Cas.”

“Yes, it is. Either you want to do it or not. What would you gain by doing a job that doesn’t give you anything?”

“Money.”

Cas gave him a crooked smile. “The oldest motivation in history.”

They sat in silence for a long while. Dean knew their time had run out – he needed to leave. It was already ten o’clock, and if he put off driving, he’d arrive at Kansas closer to midnight, which wouldn’t be good for his work performance next day. He might’ve hated his job, but he still had to do it.

Wordlessly, Dean rose from the table. Castiel rose as well, and did the dishes while Dean packed. It took Dean longer than he would’ve liked, but he kept stalling, taking out the few shirts and socks he had in his bag to re-pack them. When he finally couldn’t stall by doing that, he picked up his bag, gave the bedroom one last glance, and walked out.

Castiel was standing in front of the fireplace, not looking at anywhere in particular. Dean slowed his steps when he reached Cas, stopping a foot away from him. They looked at each other, neither certain what they were looking for.

Castiel finally broke the silence. “You’re not going to stay, then.”

“No,” Dean said.

“I see.” Castiel gave him a tight smile. “You have no need for the cabin, then.”

“I never said that,” Dean hedged. “And, um.” Dean swallowed. “You don’t have to move out. You can stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you,” Cas said. It sounded rough, much rougher than his usual voice.

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know what to say to make it better. He squared his shoulders.

“So, I guess this is it.”

“I guess so,” Castiel said.

Dean hid his face as best as he could when he turned towards the door and started to walk out. He suspected it hadn’t worked well, because Castiel followed him outside. Silently, they walked to Dean’s car, and Castiel stood behind him as Dean loaded up his bag and slid into the car.

“See you around, Cas,” Dean said, looking at the dashboard rather than Castiel.

“Be happy, Dean,” Castiel said, quietly.

Dean slammed the door shut. Castiel stood by the side and watched as he started the car, and kept watching even as he drove away. Dean stared back through the mirror, his chest feeling heavier with each feet he drove further and further away from Cas.

He’d get over it, he supposed. He always did.


	7. Day 23

**_Day 23_ **

Dean had suspected that the spell Castiel put on him would go away the second he touched ground in Kansas and eased back into his old life. Castiel had been an anomaly; a disturbance in his neat life, something he hadn’t expected, but something that would inevitably go away.

But the spell didn’t go away in a day, or in a week. Dean wasn’t any less enchanted by Castiel as he had been back at the cabin. He thought of Castiel’s nimble fingers when he moved stacks of paperwork on his desk, one pile on top the other, and he thought of Castiel’s fast-paced but concentrated typing on his laptop while he lazily clicked on cells in a huge Excel spreadsheet about last month’s sales. He thought of Castiel’s arms wrapped around him when he slept in his comfortable but too big bed, and he thought of the way Castiel prepared him breakfast without even asking.

Dean was man enough to admit that he missed Cas. Castiel had a strange, soothing effect on him, and Dean was still intrigued by Castiel’s nonexistent past – who had he been before he’d arrived at the cabin? Where was his family? What would he think of Dean’s apartment, of Dean’s friends, of the way Dean lounged on the couch after each workday because he didn’t have enough energy to go out or do anything?

But as much as Dean missed Cas, he couldn’t see how Castiel, writing articles about nature and chopping wood and fishing and living alone, could ever fit in his life in Kansas. They were incompatible: Dean had his life in Kansas, and Cas had his in North Dakota. It wasn’t an impossible distance, but it was such a huge hurdle that Dean wasn’t sure where to go from here.

Besides, was there even anything to pursue, based on six – or five and a half – meager days spent together in a cabin? They hardly knew each other. And then there was the issue of Cas being a man, which, well, if Dean was honest with himself… It wasn’t an issue, anymore. Bobby wouldn’t have cared. John would have hated him for falling back to his “nasty habits,” but that hardly mattered anymore. Sam wouldn’t care. Benny wouldn’t care. Jo wouldn’t care. Charlie would probably high-five him and drag him to the next Pride Parade.

So why was he holding back?

Two weeks passed by, and then one evening, Dean found himself googling Castiel. Cas had never given Dean his surname, but it wasn’t hard to find one C. J. Novak’s articles on guns, shooting, hunting, bird watching, and surprisingly, on gene therapy, molecular biology, and other obscure things that Dean didn’t even know Castiel could write about. Apparently, he wrote about whatever he was commissioned for.

Dean wasn’t even that into guns – he knew how to appreciate one, and Bobby and John had both taught him enough to understand the difference between a Beretta and a Baikal – but he was strangely fascinated by Castiel’s reviews. Castiel’s way of looking at them was worlds away. It was professional. Accurate. Like he knew every little detail about guns there was to know, and didn’t bother hiding it. Cas’s articles on birds and flowers and bees, of all things, were also weirdly interesting and well-written. It seemed that Castiel had chosen his profession well. With the pace he was churning out articles, Dean imagined that he could easily earn just enough money to stay afloat and lead the kind of life he wanted.

Attached to one article was Cas’s contact information, and Dean’s heart leaped at that. He regretted not getting Cas’s number when they’d parted, but now there it was, an easy way to contact him: an email address.

Dean thought for a minute, but only for a minute, and then quickly opened his Gmail account and started to draft a new email. Castiel always seemed to make him say what he usually wouldn’t, and apparently, his influence wasn’t limited to close proximity. Dean didn’t pause to think about what to write, and just wrote as simply and honestly as he could: _I really miss you_. _I wish we could speak again._

Dean sent the message before he could second-guess himself, and then sat back and waited. It was entirely possible that Castiel wouldn’t even check his emails until the next morning, since it was ten o’clock, and maybe Castiel was eyeballs deep in Netflix.

A reply came just when Dean was about to close his computer. He grinned when he read the equally short but honest answer, _I miss you too. Would you like to Skype sometime?_ Castiel’s username was attached, and without missing a beat, Dean opened the program and added Castiel’s contact information.

 _Ready when you are_ , he wrote back, and then waited.

 _Give me a minute_ , Castiel instantly wrote back.

Despite the message, it took Castiel fifteen minutes to appear online, and during that, Dean paced around nervously, alternating between regretting what he’d done and then assuring himself that it would be fine. The worst that could happen was that they’d talk, and Dean would find that they were still as incompatible as they were in Dean’s head, but at least he’d know for sure. He didn’t even want to think about the best case scenarios – Cas’s message had given him a spark of hope, but even if the hope was there, he still couldn’t see how it would lead anywhere.

Maybe he could be content with a friendship over Skype, though. Even if the mere idea of that felt like a clumsy imitation of what he’d felt during those six (five and a half) days.

When Castiel finally appeared online, Dean let out a relieved breath. The happy chime of an incoming call had barely started when Dean answered.

“What took you so long?” Dean asked in lieu of greeting. Castiel grinned at him, and Dean felt a pang in his chest. He shouldn’t have worded it like that – he felt guilty about taking so long to contact Cas.

“Had trouble with my connection,” Cas said. “It happens sometimes, you know.”

“Well, yeah, you live in the middle of nowhere,” Dean said.

“Guilty,” Castiel shrugged. “How are you, Dean?”

“I’m…” _Not fine. Missing you. Miserable. Confused because of that._ “Fine. I’m fine, Cas. How are things at your end? Deer still sleep on your porch?”

Castiel quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t call Dean out on his obvious deflection attempt.

“It’s your porch,” Cas said. “But yes, yes they do. Their numbers are growing, actually. I spotted seven of them, last night.”

“You’re a freakin’ Disney prince, dude.”

“Hardly. In the fall, I shoot and eat them.”

Dean barked out a laughter. “That wouldn’t make a very good Disney movie. No prince would do that.”

“But I could be a convincing villain,” Castiel mused.

“With a dark and mysterious past?” Dean asked. He was playing with fire, here, but luckily, Castiel didn’t disconnect just because of that.

“Incredibly dark,” Castiel said. “A squirrel ate my pie, so I’m seeking revenge on all mankind.”

“What a thought-provoking and realistic tale.”

“Believe it or not, that happened to me, once.”

“What? A squirrel actually ate your pie? How?”

“I left it out to cool,” Castiel sighed. “Won’t be making that mistake again.”

“More importantly, you bake? What the hell, man, you’ve been holding out on me!”

“You were here for six days,” Cas reminded him. “I didn’t exactly have time to show off my gourmet skills.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, swallowing. “That’s true. Not enough time.”

They were silent for a moment.

“You’re welcome to come over any time you’d like. I promise I’ll save some pie for you,” Castiel said. Dean laughed.

“I can’t exactly drive there for the weekend.”

“Why not?” Cas countered. Dean paused to think. It was a twelve hour drive, give or take, so it wasn’t impossible – just took some planning.

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I’d need to take a few days off. No point in me driving there on Friday night and leaving right away.”

“I’m sure a day or two can be arranged,” Castiel said. “You just got promoted, right?”

“Yeah?”

“You must be important for the company, then. Important enough for them to want to protect your precious mind from a burn-out.”

“You’re pretty crafty, Cas, anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time,” Castiel easily replied. “Let me know how that goes.”

And just like that, Dean and Castiel had decided on a visit. Cas seemed to draw an impulsive side out of Dean, but he didn’t particularly feel that was a bad thing. Just…new. Or something he had lost for years.

Neither wanted to end the call, so the conversation dragged on for quite a while. Dean kept asking about the life in North Dakota, and Castiel indulged him, telling all about the premonitions his neighbor Pamela had had and how Pamela had even come for a surprise visit one day, telling Castiel that she had to do a palm-reading or at least a Tarot reading for him or she’d go out of her mind. Apparently, divination was her hobby, and new targets were few and far between, apart from the steady stream of tourists that came to her book shop. In turn, Dean told Cas about his boring, boring work, then switched to telling Cas how he’d picked up a few new TV shows to watch. Dean usually didn’t have energy even for turning into a zombie in front of the TV, so he was secretly glad that he had enough interest for that nowadays, and besides, Castiel didn’t seem too tired to discuss fan theories and their favorite episodes with him.

But eventually, they had to call it quits. Dean had to wake up early for work the next day, and it was already past midnight. Cas obviously didn’t have a fixed schedule, but he looked tired as well.

“Look, I hate to cut this short…”

“It really wasn’t.”

“Point,” Dean snorted. “But I really have to go to bed.”

Castiel’s eyes seemed to flash, but that was just a fortunate trick of the screen lighting. “I understand.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Dean said.

“You too.”

“Um. Yeah.” Dean smiled. “Night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel said. On the screen, his image flickered, but Dean could almost feel Cas pressing against his back. He clung to that sensory memory, still smiling when the call disconnected.


	8. Day 48

**_Day 48_ **

Despite promises, Dean couldn’t get away from work as easily as he’d hoped. He had several hours overtime, and yet, his boss grumbled and mumbled when Dean announced that he needed three days off. Dean couldn’t understand what the problem was: he was here every day, overtime, all evenings, and when he asked for one little thing in return, he was met with a stony silence. His boss had agreed to Dean taking off a week for Bobby’s funeral and taking care of the will, but apparently, another death in the family was needed if Dean ever wanted to go on a vacation.

Maybe Castiel was right. He put his all into a job that didn’t give him anything in return, and that didn’t seem like a fair trade. Dean didn’t even _like_ his job – he just did it out of obligation, as well as he could, and the more he thought about it, he couldn’t see why. But he couldn’t figure out what the alternative to that would be, so he let it lie.

Despite the distance still hollowing Dean inside and making him question everything at times, Dean couldn’t help but admit that talking to Cas in Skype had become the highlight of his week, or day. After the first few fumbling attempts, they proceeded to Skype almost daily, and it seemed like no matter how late Dean was at home from work, exhausted, he still had time and energy to spend a moment or two in Cas’s presence. Twice, he had even fallen asleep, listening to Castiel’s voice, but Cas had just laughed at him the next time they’d talked, assuring Dean that it made no difference.

“I’m glad you find my voice soothing enough to fall asleep to it,” Castiel just said, grinning, and Dean had to quickly change the topic to stop embarrassing himself further. He wasn’t quite ready for Cas to find out just how much Dean enjoyed his voice.

Despite the frequent calls, Dean wasn’t growing tired of Cas. As different as they were and as different as their lives were, somehow, they still never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Castiel never talked about his past, or how he had ended up in the situation where he was now, but by now, the doubt was just a silent echo in the background of Dean’s mind. Dean could easily ignore that when faced with the fact that Cas never seemed to tire listening to his rants about TV shows, his life, and endured even his more embarrassing moments, when he barely had energy to sign into Skype. In turn, Dean couldn’t get enough of the subtly sarcastic way Castiel kept looking at the world and how in awe he seemed to be of other things. Sometimes, Dean had no earthly idea what Cas was rambling on about, but he just grinned and settled on his couch to listen to Cas talk about the math involved in the shape of beehives.

Castiel was a strange, strange man, but Dean was in the danger of falling in love with him. He had no idea when this had happened, but he couldn’t deny the jolt that went through his body whenever he thought about Cas – there hadn’t been many instances in his life when he’d been this happy to see someone, to spend time with them and to hold them. And, really, he hadn’t even seen or touched Castiel in real life, other than for the six (five and a half) days in the beginning.

And that was one of the things Dean could add to the “unsolved mysteries related to Cas” pile. For all their talks, they never mentioned their relationship, the way they’d left it dangling when Dean had left the cabin. Dean didn’t know would Cas be interested in phone sex, or sex via Skype – how that would work, Dean wasn’t sure, since he’d never done that before, but he had some ideas – but it never seemed to come up. Dean didn’t dare to ask, afraid that Cas would reject him, even if he was certain that Cas wouldn’t. It was an odd, double-edged feeling: he didn’t want to ask, but on the other hand, the way Castiel kept looking at him implied that they could pick up exactly where they’d left off. It was just a matter of _asking_.

But then again, Dean kept getting distracted with Castiel talking about his very-nearly pet deer.

“I had to install a lock to the shack,” Castiel said, mournfully. “They kept getting inside and dropping fishing gear from the walls.”

Castiel was a strange, strange man, _and_ Dean was falling in love with him.

 

* * *

 

In July, Dean finally managed to get away from his work and take a few days off to drive up to North Dakota. His boss wasn’t happy about it, but Dean was starting to give less and less of a fuck about that, and even seethed in anger when Mr. Adler had the gall to tell him to keep in mind that he “wouldn’t get any special treatment in the future” and that “this won’t look good in your yearly review.”

All that seemed disappear, however, when Dean hit the road. From the first roar of Impala’s, Dean spared no thought for his job or the miserable situation he had going on in there. All he could think about was the feeling of freedom, driving towards the place where Cas was, where he had felt oddly removed from everything, but not in a bad way. Just in a way that told him that there were more ways to live than how he’d tried to do it.

Dean had started to drive as soon as he’d gotten away from work, and even if he was dead tired when the clock struck one in the morning and he was still driving, he couldn’t regret it. He stopped just once, to get coffee to wake him up, and then he was back on the road again. He felt both hyperactive and dead tired by the time he finally pulled in front of the cabin, just a little after six o’clock in the morning. It had taken him twelve hours, and his joints protested when he rose from the car, but he forgot the pain the instant Cas opened the door.

“I heard your car,” Cas said when Dean threw him a questioning look. “It wasn’t hard to miss. No one drives around here at six in the morning.”

“Why are you up?” Dean muttered. He fumbled for his bag in the trunk, and the fact that it took him two tries to locate it told him that he really should take a nap. He just didn’t want to – he’d driven all night to see Cas, so he wasn’t about to fall asleep just when he’d reached his goal.

“I waited for you,” Cas said.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Of course I did,” Cas countered. He stepped off the porch, shivering a little in the cold mist of the morning, and Dean met him halfway. They stood there, pulled close as if by magnetism, but unable to take that last step.

“Hi,” Dean said.

“Hello,” Cas smiled. “Let’s go take a nap.”

“I don’t need to—”

“You do,” Cas said, and that was that. Cas directed Dean inside with a hand on the small of Dean’s back, and Dean couldn’t say no to that. He was too tired to fully appreciate the touch, but he definitely appreciated the way Cas led him to the bed and wrapped them up in blankets, pulling Dean close to his chest.

 

* * *

 

Waking up in Cas’s arms felt comforting and better than Dean had remembered. Dean wondered how you could get used to something you’d only experienced a few times, and so much time had passed between now and the time he’d last been in the same bed as Cas. Still, it felt _right_ to wake up like this, and even if they’d slept for only three hours, Dean felt better than he had in ages.

He sat up, looking out of the only window in the bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but Dean could still make out the sun shining brilliantly, and figured that they should get up if they wanted to make the best of the day.

Castiel moved, and Dean turned towards him with a carefree grin. When Cas cracked one eye open, Dean’s grin only widened.

“Must be dreaming still,” Cas muttered.

“You’re awake,” Dean said. “Morning.”

“Morn’n,” Castiel mumbled, closing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Go back to sleep,” Cas said, pulling Dean back to his chest.

Dean laughed, and let Cas draw him back under the covers. It seemed that this would be a regular occurrence, if they were to ever live together.

Dean didn’t mind, if he was honest.

Dean finally managed to tempt Castiel out of bed by ten. The lure of coffee was too much for Castiel to resist, not to mention the new brands of yogurt Dean had brought with him for Cas to test.

“If you need to live on yogurt, at least live on good yogurt,” Dean muttered as he emptied his bag into the fridge. He ignored Castiel grinning like an idiot behind his back.

“Thank you,” Castiel said when they sat down to eat. He was clutching one of the new brands Dean had brought him, and looked like someone had just handed him a treasure.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean muttered. His ears burned. He managed a glance at Castiel, who, despite the yogurt and a steaming cup of coffee before him, was still yawning widely.

“How can you be more tired than me?” Dean asked. “I drove all night.”

“I waited for you all night,” Cas said.

“Um. I told you, you shouldn’t have. It’s a twelve-hour trip from Kansas, and I texted you when I left,” Dean reminded him.

“Of course I waited for you.” Castiel took a sip from his coffee. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”

“What, were you worried?” Dean asked, trying to make light of it.

“Yes,” Castiel said, and that shut Dean up for a long time. He felt a warm glow inside him as they continued to eat breakfast, and kept smiling whenever their feet brushed under the table.

The day passed slowly but comfortably. If Castiel had planned on working, that plan was thrown out of the window the second Dean sat down beside him on the couch. Castiel switched to Netflix on his laptop, and after that, there was nothing to stop them from having a full marathon of _Top Gear, Dr. Sexy MD_ (on Dean’s insistence) and _Lucky Dog_ (on Castiel’s insistence). What they were watching hardly mattered, though, since they kept talking over the episodes – despite speaking almost daily on Skype, it felt like they hadn’t seen each other since the first time. Their conversations on Skype belonged to another pocket of the universe, and the way they kept brushing against each other and interrupting the other’s sentences and getting side-tracked felt much more real than their midnight conversations about which nurse Doctor Sexy was going to ask out next.

“Did you fix the bathroom door?” Dean asked when there was a short lull in the conversation. Looking at the door, he suddenly noticed that it was no longer in the danger of falling off its hinges. He’d learned to navigate around that the last time he’d been here, and had barely noticed it on day six, but now that he looked at the door, it seemed new.

“Yes,” Castiel said, looking for a new episode for them to watch. Dean wasn’t that interested in more dogs being trained for picture perfect families, and was looking for any excuse to talk about something else. (He didn’t have anything against dogs – on the contrary, he was secretly bitter that he had never had the chance to get one, and especially with his schedule, it seemed impossible. Cas, on the other hand, visibly loved dogs. And cats. And all kinds of animals. Dean had a slight fear of stumbling over something furry the next time he came here.)

“You’ve done a great job here, Cas,” Dean said. “I mean it,” he added when it seemed that Cas was about to brush off the praise. “The way I remember it, this shack was falling apart the last time I was here.”

“Well. It might have been a little…old, when I arrived. So I had to do something.”

“You didn’t have to, but you did.”

Castiel regarded him for a while, obviously thinking of what to say. Dean let him; he sensed that Cas wanted to say something important.

“I suppose it’s fitting, in a way. Fix what you can, when you can’t fix yourself. This place was as broken as I was when I arrived. The only difference is, I made it better.”

“What’s the implication, Cas?” Dean asked. The next episode of _Lucky Dog_ was buffering on the laptop, forgotten between them. “That you can’t fix yourself?”

“That’s what I said,” Cas said with a laugh, but it didn’t sound amusing to either of them.

“You never talk about your past,” Dean said, finally daring to poke at the unknown. “You said you had a family, at some point.”

“I did.”

“But you don’t, anymore.”

“No.” Castiel looked away, and Dean felt something tighten around his heart.

“Is that why you are broken, Cas?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right,” Dean said, a bit hurt. “But you know that you could, if you wanted, right?”

Castiel was silent for a moment, and then said, quietly, “It’s none of your concern, Dean.”

Dean huffed. “Fine. None of my concern. Got it. Loud and clear.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Castiel said, furrowing his brows. “I simply don’t want to trouble you.”

“That’s bullshit, Cas,” Dean snapped. “I thought we were friends. That means that sometimes I trouble you with my shit, and sometimes you trouble me with your shit!”

“We’re friends?” Cas asked. He sounded honestly surprised.

“I thought so,” Dean said, dread climbing up his throat. “Dunno about you, but I don’t randomly Skype people I don’t like every damn night.”

Castiel snorted. “Yes, that’s…that’s true.”

Before Dean could get too upset that Castiel wasn’t returning even this much affection, Cas murmured,

“Forgive me. I do consider you a friend. Or something more than that,” he added, glancing at Dean in a way that made Dean’s insides squirm. Cas had an unnatural talent for looking at Dean like he was worth something. “It just sounded strange, I guess. I’ve never had friends.”

“What? Never?”

“Never.”

“How’s that even—you’re, what, thirty-something?”

Castiel dodged the question, but admitted, “I grew up in a small town. No one wanted to associate with me after a group of bullies warned them off. I went to high school in a larger town, and I suppose others saw the group I was in as a large group of friends, but… I didn’t really know them, and they didn’t know me. Other than being in the same football team and sometimes hanging out after practice, I never saw them.”

Dean blinked. “You were a jock in high school?”

“What did you expect?” Castiel asked, sounding faintly amused.

“I don’t know. I guess I pictured a nerd in awful clothes and unflattering glasses.”

Castiel snorted. “I’m sorry to disappoint.” He paused. “Despite the stereotype, it was no less lonely, though.”

Not having a single friend throughout his life still seemed unbelievable, but in a way, it made sense; Dean liked Cas for what he was, but he had to admit, the man had some strange quirks and a habit to react way too seriously, like he sometimes had trouble telling what was important and what wasn’t in a conversation. Maybe that came with not having interacted with people as much as he could have as a kid.

Dean gazed at Castiel, once again keenly aware that he knew next to nothing about Cas’s past. This was the first tid-bit of information Cas had volunteered, and Dean wanted to know the longer story of how a lonely child with no friends had ended up living in the middle of the woods.

“How’d you end up here, Cas?” Dean finally dared to ask.

This time, Cas didn’t instantly brush off the question. Instead, he looked down, and was silent for a while. His laptop had fallen asleep a long time ago, and absently, Castiel put it on the coffee table.

“I haven’t talked about this in a long time,” Castiel started. “Forgive me if I seem…troubled with it.”

“Don’t—don’t apologize for that.”

Castiel hummed, looking down again, and Dean forced himself to wait. If Castiel wanted to talk, it would have to be his decision, not Dean’s.

“I wasn’t always a writer,” Castiel said. “I never studied for it. I just stumbled on it after my…first life, you could say. I was a different person back then. Sometimes I wonder would I even get along with myself, if I ever met past me.”

“Most of us wouldn’t. I sure as hell wouldn’t,” Dean said. “I’d beat the shit out of that asshole.”

Castiel snorted. “I share your sentiments there. Sometimes, it seems strange to think that everything I’ve done, has been in the realm of the same body. Same person. Just…it feels so different.” He took a breath. “In my first life, I was a soldier.”

When he didn’t continue, Dean gently nudged, “You were in the army.”

“Career soldier,” Castiel continued. “All my life. I couldn’t pay for college, so I enlisted. I figured I’d do a few tours, get some money, and then leave the army and go to college.”

“To study what?”

“Biology.” Castiel had a fond smile on his face. “I always wanted to study nature.”

“Doesn’t sound to me like you weren’t always yourself,” Dean remarked. “Just a little younger, and in a bad situation.”

“Possibly,” Castiel sighed. “I’ve told you before that my mother died when I was young. It was…At that point, it felt like a light went out in my family. Our house was constantly silent, void of any signs of actual life. No one was happy from that point on. My brothers and sisters dealt with it in their own way, I dealt it with mine. My dad wouldn’t and couldn’t pay for college. We never got along, but at least he was happy that I joined the army, like he had done. I guess that’s the only time he’s been proud of me.”

Dean wanted to remark how similar their histories seemed, but he stayed silent and let Cas continue.

“I never liked it there, but I got used to it. I don’t know why I stayed. Maybe because it was easy. You didn’t have to think.” He swallowed. “And then, one day, it was like I woke up. From a long, long dream. Or a nightmare, perhaps. I don’t even remember where I was. Somewhere in Irak? I don’t remember. I just woke up, looked at the bodies of civilians at my feet, and thought, ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’”

Dean couldn’t say anything.

“They kept dying,” Castiel said, with a quiet voice. “I couldn’t save them. None of them. I just made it worse.”

“Cas—”

“It’s true, Dean. I was supposed to protect people, but I didn’t.” He looked down at his hands, as if they’d betrayed him. “Instead, I let them get killed. And I killed them.”

Dean shut his mouth. They stayed in silence for a while.

“I was dishonorably discharged from the army after that,” Castiel continued. “I didn’t mind. If they think it was dishonorable of me to stop killing, that’s on them, not me. But I had no place to go after that. As I said, I didn’t have—don’t have—any friends. My father was ashamed of me and didn’t want to see me, let alone help me. The rest of my family is scattered all over the globe, all moved as far away as they could from my father. I stayed with my older brother for a while, then my sister, but… They have their own lives. I would’ve only messed it up.”

“How did you end up here?” Dean finally dared to ask. Castiel hummed.

“I hitchhiked,” he said. “All over. Hopped on a bus when I had money. Did a few odd jobs, so I could have money to go to the next place. I didn’t have a destination in mind. At some point, I stopped hitchhiking and started walking. I didn’t care where I went.” He let out a breath. “I spent the first half of the winter at a homeless shelter. I didn’t like it there, so I continued to walk.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Castiel said. Quieter, he continued, “I don’t know why I came to these woods. I can’t recall. But I don’t think I ever intended to return.”

Dean swallowed at the implication. Going to the wilderness with very few supplies, no destination in mind, in the middle of winter… All that spelled out either a poorly thought-out plan, or a well thought-out plan that would deliberately go poorly. Dean didn’t know which option he wanted to believe.

“And then I stumbled upon this cabin,” Castiel said. He glanced at the loft, his eyes softening.

“And you stayed.”

“And I stayed,” Castiel nodded.

“I’m glad,” Dean said, after a while.

Castiel finally granted him a tiny smile, and he seemed relieved. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of Cas, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other. Unable to resist, Dean leaned closer, capturing Cas’s lips in a gentle kiss.

Dean had a panicked thought for a millisecond – _wait, he hasn’t initiated anything since I came here, oh god, what if he’s changed his mind, this was a horrible mistake_ – before Castiel responded to the kiss and immediately pushed any doubts from his mind. Castiel’s hands came to cradle Dean’s face, pulling him closer, and relieved, Dean relaxed into the kiss. He groaned as Castiel deepened the kiss, fingertips pushing into Dean’s temples, and Dean pulled Cas as close as humanly possible by wrapping his arms around Cas.

The kiss went from gentle to heated in no time, and when Castiel finally broke it off, Dean had to gather his breath for a few moments. Castiel brushed his thumb against Dean’s upper lip, and Dean made a whimpering sound he would vehemently deny later on. Cas’s eyes were nearly black, pupils blown with desire, and Dean had trouble coming back to the ground. Dean had rarely been kissed as thoroughly, or as tenderly, and he struggled to understand why they’d stopped.

“Want to watch a few more episodes?” Castiel asked. His voice sounded rougher than usual, and Dean took a second to catch up. Was Cas seriously thinking about goddamn _Lucky Dog_ at a moment like this? “We still don’t know if that teenage girl will ever get her therapy dog.”

“Of course she will! It was in the preview!”

“But we don’t know for sure,” Cas said, fingers continuing their slow travel on Dean’s cheeks, and it took Dean everything not to yell out loud.

“No offense, Cas, but I couldn’t give a shit about puppies right now.”

“That’s not very nice of you, Dean,” Castiel said, but his eyes were twinkling. What an ass – he knew exactly what he was doing to Dean.

“Cas,” Dean said, “take me to bed.”

“But it’s not even eight yet.”

“Cas, stop playing. You know what I mean.”

It was a small movement, but Dean saw how Cas’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. After Cas’s deflection attempts, it was good to know that he wasn’t the only one affected by this.

“Dean,” Castiel said, then thought otherwise, and didn’t continue. He took Dean’s hand, and together, they stood up, Castiel gently pulling Dean with him. Dean’s feet felt wobbly as he followed Cas to the bedroom, and as if sensing that, Castiel turned around and pulled Dean into a kiss on the threshold.

Dean immediately melted into Cas’s arms, trying to give as good as he got. Cas was a fantastic kisser; Dean was aware that his brain might be only partially online now, but he was fairly sure he wasn’t exaggerating that. He couldn’t remember that any of his other partners had ever been as _invested_ in kissing, or at least it had never felt like that before. He could’ve stayed here forever, wrapped up in Castiel’s kisses, but when Castiel tugged him towards the bed, he happily followed.

They stumbled on the bed, breaking the kiss as they laughed a little at the graceless landing, but with a little shifting on the bed, that was soon rectified, and Dean eagerly grabbed Castiel’s thighs and pulled him on top. Their chests brushed together, crotches following, and Dean let out a gasp at how good that felt. Cas pressed kisses to his neck, and Dean arched his back as unsubtly as he could to give Cas more room to work.

“I want to make you feel good,” Cas murmured between the kisses. “What do you want, Dean?”

Dean didn’t know what to say, at first. He wanted a million things, all at once and nothing at all, wanting to offer the same to Cas as well.

“I—” Dean started to say, then shut his mouth. He didn’t know where to start.

“We don’t have to do anything if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” Dean said. “I just dunno where to start.”

Cas laughed against his neck, sliding his hands underneath Dean’s t-shirt, and flicked a nipple. Dean let out a gasp and kicked the air, accidentally almost pushing Cas off.

“Sorry,” Dean laughed. “Didn’t know I could be that sensitive.”

Cas let out a humming sound, and continued to play with Dean’s nipples underneath the shirt, but gentler than before. Dean squirmed, trying to prevent any more accidental kicks in the air. He pulled Cas into another kiss, and then slid his hands down on Castiel’s back, toying with the hem of Cas’s t-shirt.

“That’s an idea,” Castiel said then. “We could start with these,” he suggested, grabbing the hem of Dean’s shirt, and Dean was absolutely on board with that. Cas sat up, still on Dean’s lap, and despite the proximity and the short awkward dance of limbs, they managed to get their shirts off. Getting his hands on Castiel’s flesh made Dean grin stupidly – kissing like this felt so much better, so much closer.

They spent a while like that, sitting close and just feeling each other, and then Dean grazed the line of Cas’s jeans with his fingers. Castiel immediately gave him room, and was kind enough not to say anything about the fact that it took Dean embarrassingly many tries to unbutton Cas’s pants. Cas lifted his hips, helping Dean slide his jeans off, and then returned the favor. Dean swallowed when Cas urged him to lift his hips, but Dean laid down and let Cas pull his pants off. He tugged Dean’s socks off as well, and suddenly, they were in just their boxers. Dean didn’t think he’d ever get the image of Castiel sitting in his lap in just his boxers, hair wild and lips the shade of just-been-kissed-red, out of his head.

“Now what?” Castiel asked, with a smile. His fingertips danced on Dean’s chest, and Dean captured them with his own, holding their hands over his heart for a moment.

“What?” Dean muttered.

“What do you want to do, Dean?”

Too many things, none of which he’d ever done before. Dean wasn’t usually shy about his abilities in bed and he’d try anything once – hell, he’d let a girl put him in panties and paddle his ass in college, and he’d _liked_ it – but suddenly, all of that experience seemed inadequate. He didn’t want to disappoint Castiel.

“Hey,” Cas said, eyes softening when he noticed how Dean had suddenly fallen silent. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just…” Dean licked his lips, and Cas leaned closer to brush his thumb against his cheek. “Haven’t exactly been in this situation before.”

“You did fine before,” Cas said.

“That’s—that’s kinda how far I’ve…with men.”

“Oh. I’m your first?”

“Um.” Thankfully, Dean was already flushed, so Cas couldn’t see how red his cheeks became. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“I…years ago.” Dean swallowed. “There was this one guy, in college. But I barely got to do anything before it was over.”

Castiel laughed, but it didn’t sound like it was aimed at Dean. “Oh, I’ll make sure this won’t be over so soon.”

“Bragging already?” Dean asked, the tension in him lifting when he saw how easily Cas was taking all of this. “Not for nothing, buddy, but I recall you saying you haven’t been with anyone in fifteen years.”

“I haven’t,” Castiel confirmed, perfectly at ease. “But it’s like riding a bike, right? I got plenty of practice in my twenties.”

The flash of jealousy that went through Dean was surprisingly harsh, but Dean forced it down. Cas was with him now, and it had been years before they’d even met.

“Wild college years?”

“Never went to college,” Castiel reminded him. “But it wasn’t hard to find willing partners from other places. Some guys wanted to take out their frustration with the army training with…alternative means. I was happy to offer them guidance.” Before Dean could say anything, Cas continued, “None of them were you, though.”

Whatever Dean had been about to say disappeared right then, because with one swift motion, Castiel pulled Dean’s boxers down. Dean managed a feeble, “You—oh,” before Cas had lowered his lips to swipe at Dean’s cock. It was such a short touch, just one sweep of his tongue, but Dean couldn’t help but think that it felt more intense than any touch he’d ever experienced.

Cas hadn’t been lying: despite the fact that it had been a while since he’d done anything, he was obviously experienced in this, sucking Dean easily down, manipulating Dean’s nerves so expertly that Dean was panting and cursing in no time. Castiel sucked cock as intensely as he had kissed Dean just a moment ago, and Dean gasped, having a fleeting thought that he had a lot of practice ahead of him to catch up. Not that he minded – just the thought of bringing Cas the same pleasure that he was experiencing right now made Dean moan.

Castiel’s fingertips grazed Dean’s perineum, and Dean couldn’t stop his hips from jack-knifing, accidentally making Cas choke. Castiel pushed him down on the bed with his other hand and continued, making Dean’s head spin. He cursed when Cas’s fingers continued the dance between his buttocks, and wished that Cas would go further.

“Cas, I,” Dean panted, feebly trying to communicate that he needed a break or he’d come embarrassingly fast. “Let me, Cas, let me try…”

Miraculously, Cas understood his meaning, and let Dean’s cock fall off of his lips. He gave Dean’s length one last kiss, and then shuffled up on the bed. Dean rose a bit, meeting him half-way, and before he could second-guess himself, he took Castiel’s cock into his mouth. Due to his posture, it was a little awkward, but the breathless gasp Castiel gave was more than worth the discomfort.

Dean’s first thought was that there was no way he could deep-throat without some serious practice, but he tried to fit as much of Castiel’s cock into his mouth as he could, before he choked and had to retreat. Cas brought a hand on his head, his fingers sliding through Dean’s hair, and that grounded Dean somewhat. He wasn’t nervous, not anymore, but it felt nice, like he was being cared for, and eager to try, Dean started to move his head up and down Cas’s length as best as he could. He brought his other hand to grasp the rest of Cas in his hand, started jacking him off, and the groan Cas made at that gave Dean a thrill he hadn’t felt in a long while. Cas sounded awed, letting out tiny breaths and muttering “Dean” like he had forgotten every other word.

Dean loved to hear Cas say his name, and doubled his efforts to hear it again. Castiel’s fingers on Dean’s hair tightened, taking as much hold of the short strands as he could, and the twinge of pain sent another thrill down Dean’s body. He licked around Cas, mapping out his cock with his tongue, and would have grinned if he could when Cas’s hips started to move.

Dean coughed when Castiel pulled off, but that was more out of surprise – he would’ve been ready to continue as long as Castiel wanted. Cas leaned down, giving him a sloppy kiss, and grinning, they fell on the bed, Castiel landing on top of Dean.

“What else?” Castiel asked. “How do you want to come?”

“Sheesh, Cas, what kind of question is that?”

Cas’s eyes twinkled and he gave Dean another kiss. “What else do you want to do?”

Dean did have one particular fantasy, one that he’d been carrying with him ever since his first visit to here, and if Cas was giving him a choice…

“Could you—” Dean started, then reconsidered. “Kinda want you to fuck me, but…I’ve never—”

“We don’t have to do that now,” Castiel said, clearly noticing how red Dean’s face had become. “Can I try something instead?” Cas asked, and Dean was nodding before he even finished the question. Dean had an inkling what Cas had in mind, and his hunch was confirmed when Castiel leaned over him, opening the only drawer in the bedside table and taking out a bottle.

“You keep lube in the bedside table?”

“Where else?” Castiel asked, distracted by opening the bottle and squeezing some lube on his fingers.

“Whose bottle is the one in the bathroom, then?”

Castiel paused. “I really don’t think you want the answer to that.”

“Oh, gross.”

Dean watched with fascination as Cas warmed up the lube between his fingers, and then spread his legs to give Cas room. He tensed up a bit when Castiel brushed against his hole, but forgot about that when Cas took his cock in his mouth again. Gently, Cas massaged his rim, licking all over his cock at the same time, and it was hard for Dean to focus on either – he felt like he was being attacked on two fronts with pleasure. When Castiel finally breached him, pushing a finger inside, Dean tensed again and drew a breath. He had done this part before, but it had been years, and he’d forgotten how intense it could get.

“Easy,” Cas muttered, and just like that, it was easier to breathe again. Castiel continued to push his finger in, just the tip first, but soon he was stretching Dean with two, and Dean couldn’t help but push against him. It felt wonderful, and Dean grasped at the sheets, sweat beginning to gather to his forehead when Cas pushed against his prostate.

“Cas, ha, ha, I—I can’t—”

“Let go, Dean,” Castiel said, grinning, and returned to suck Dean’s dick into his mouth.

The double pleasure was too much to bear, and before Dean knew it, he was coming with a louder yell of Castiel’s name than he’d intended. Judging by Cas’s grin, he didn’t mind the shout at all. Castiel had been pushing his hips against Dean’s legs all the while, but now he shifted upwards. Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, encouraging Cas to rut against his hip. With a moan, Cas started to do just that, brushing against Dean’s still sensitive cock once in a while.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean muttered, pulling Cas closer and grabbing his ass. “Come on me.”

“Dean—!”

It only took Castiel a few more frantic thrusts, and then he was coming all over Dean’s crotch and stomach. Gasping for breath, he collapsed on top of Dean, and then rolled to his side. They gazed at each other, Castiel still gathering his breath and Dean looking on drowsily, eyes fluttering shut.

“Worth waiting fifteen years?” Dean muttered then.

“Absolutely worth waiting for fifteen years,” Castiel said. “How about you?”

“I’m not waiting fifteen years for a repeat if it’s like that,” Dean said, and Castiel laughed.

“Hey,” Dean asked then, “are you happy here?”

“Very happy,” Cas said. He leaned closer to nuzzle Dean’s cheek. “And much happier than I was last year, now that I’m with you.”

Dean lazily ruffled Castiel’s hair, making Cas squint at him. “Me too. Much happier with you.”


	9. Day 108

**_Day 108_ **

The rest of the summer days blurred together after that. Dean still had a job and an apartment in Kansas, so he had to return home after his second holiday with Cas. It was harder to leave this time, but at least there was no doubt in his mind as they kissed goodbye on the porch: they still hadn’t talked about what they were or what the future held, but the knowledge that they would do it together hung in the air between them as surely as if it was written in the stone. Whatever doubts Dean had vanished every evening when they Skyped, and since he and Cas had now exchanged phone numbers, calls and texts were frequent between them. Dean considered Cas’s texts the only thing that got him through his workdays sometime, even if he suspected that he was taking away Castiel’s time to write with his frequent whining about his bosses and menial tasks.

“What would I do without you?” Dean said in Skype one evening, after a lengthy rant about the last bullshit Zachariah Adler had put him through.

“Hire a therapist,” Castiel deadpanned, and Dean nearly choked on his drink.

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t be as hot as you,” Dean said when he’d wiped the liquid off of his chin. “And I couldn’t pay them with sexual favors, anyway.”

“That’s true,” Castiel said. “And that would be a real pity.”

Dean had been too chickenshit to suggest it, but Castiel had no shame when it came to sex, apparently, because once they’d gotten over the will-we-or-won’t-we part, he’d quite naturally suggested phone sex one night. Their first attempt had ended in a giggle fit on both ends, but the next times had gone a lot better. Dean would have preferred having the real thing, but it was better than nothing – and more importantly, he could hardly cuddle with a phone or his laptop after they were done. He’d taken to hugging a pillow while he slept and more often than not fell asleep in the middle of a conversation with Cas. Not that Castiel minded; he had admitted that he had trouble falling asleep if he hadn’t wished Dean goodnight.

Dean was aware that by this point, they were hurdling towards gross domesticity of a real relationship, almost on every level – they just lived in different places. Dean was still dragging his feet when it came to discussing their future, even if he knew that they had to do it at some point. Besides, day by day, Dean felt less and less attached to his apartment, his workplace, and the city. He just didn’t want to think what leaving would mean.

One weekend, Dean finally managed to make one important call. After six long rings, his brother finally answered. Sam sounded tired, but his voice perked up a little when he realized who he was talking to.

“Haven’t heard anything about you in ages, man,” Sam said. “How’re you?”

“Same old,” Dean said. “Work is taking over my life, the newest season of Doctor Sexy sucks.”

“Christ, you sound like a mess if it’s come to that,” Sam laughed. They traded news for a moment, but there wasn’t anything very interesting about Sam’s work to Dean, and nothing interesting about Dean’s work to Sam, so that topic was soon dead.

“Dean,” Sam said then, quieter, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the funeral.”

Dean swallowed. “You were busy.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve tried more. You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said. It was, actually – two months ago it wouldn’t have been, but Dean felt more at peace, now. He could think of Bobby’s funeral without wanting to break something or grabbing the nearest bottle. But hearing Sammy apologize for not saying goodbye to Bobby still felt good.

“Actually, about Bobby…There’s something I wanted to talk about,” Dean said then. He wasn’t sure how to bring this up, so he dove in headfirst. “Remember how Bobby used to hunt in North Dakota?”

“Yeah? Didn’t he have a cabin there?”

“He did. And he left it for me.”

“That’s nice of him,” Sam said, but there was the same confused edge to his voice that had plagued Dean when he’d first learned about his inheritance. “What’re you gonna do with it? Guess you need to start hunting. Watch out for Bambis, though.”

“Ha-ha, very funny, bitch,” Dean said, and Sam snickered. “But, um, actually, while I was there to check it out, I met someone.”

“Met-met or just met?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine. _Met_ -met,” Dean sighed.

“Really? That’s wonderful, Dean. How’d you run into her?”

“Um, well, first of all, it’s a he,” Dean said, took a breath, and when Sam didn’t comment on that, he continued, “His name is Castiel Novak.”

“What’s he like?” Sam politely asked, and Dean felt grateful that Sam wasn’t making a big deal out of this.

“Strangest guy you’ll ever meet,” Dean said, smiling. “But also the kindest and smartest dude I’ve ever talked to. He’s a freelance writer.”

“Strange? Why’s that?”

“He, uh,” Dean fumbled for words for a moment, “he’s kind of a hermit. He used to be homeless, until he moved into the cabin.”

“What?”

“He’s been staying at Bobby’s cabin for the last three years.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “And you met him there.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure he’s not just…using you to get to stay?”

“Sammy, what the hell?”

“Well, you realize what this looks like, right? A homeless guy camps out in your property, ends up in your bed, and then you let him stay?”

“Cas isn’t like that,” Dean said, grinding his teeth. He had forgotten how fast he and Sam could make an argument out of anything – he liked his brother a lot more when there were several states separating them, and even then, they were bound to set each other off eventually. The gratefulness he’d felt about Sam not giving him shit for dating a dude was now vanishing with alarming speed. “Nothing even happened _before_ I decided that it’s as much his house as it is mine!”

“Alright,” Sam said, and he at least sounded apologetic. “Just be careful, Dean.”

“‘Course I am!” Dean said, still irritated.

But at least the call to Sam settled something. Dean couldn’t deny that their relationship did look a little strange – if nothing else, they had to solve the distance problem. Dean didn’t want Cas staying all by himself at the cabin, and he hardly wanted to stay alone in his apartment in Kansas, either.

He really wanted to move in with Cas, and he hoped Cas wanted that too.

 

* * *

 

In September, Dean finally went through the rest of Bobby’s papers. He’d been putting it off for a long time, and even if _Singer Salvage_ was now a property of a happy (if a bit strange) young couple and no longer Dean’s, the rest of Bobby’s things had laid forgotten in his spare room for months. Every time Dean had tried to go through them, it had felt too big a task, too hurtful. Too final.

But the call with Sam had settled something in him, and after some coaxing from Cas, Dean had to admit that keeping Bobby’s things in boxes in his spare room was helping no one. Dean was barely aware what he’d even rescued from Bobby’s house – he had only fuzzy memories of those days, and even those mostly involved a bottle of whiskey and crying in Bobby’s living room. Luckily, he’d drowned the bottle and hadn’t restocked before driving up to the cabin, or he and Cas’s first meeting would’ve gone very differently.

Thankfully, drunk-and-sad Dean had made choices that sober-and-much-happier Dean could approve. The books and DVDs all involved good memories of Bobby and/or were worthy additions to Dean’s own library, and whatever trinkets Dean had taken from Bobby’s windowsill could easily fit into his apartment. (Excluding some strange amulets and a mortar shaped like a skull. Dean had no recollection of ever seeing that in Bobby’s house, nor picking it up.) The stacks of paper Dean had put in one paper bag were mostly useless, though – no one would need Bobby’s old cable or electricity bills anymore. But among the papers was one file that made Dean pause.

It was a marriage certificate of Bobby Singer and Karen Singer, neé Smith, dated more than a decade before Dean was born. Dean’s first thought was that it was fake, since he’d never even heard that Bobby was married, but it seemed genuine enough, and besides, why wouldn’t it be? As much as Dean had loved Bobby, that man had been grumpy and secretive as hell, and losing his wife seemed like something Bobby never would’ve talked about. Dean had had to wrangle out the confession that Bobby had pancreatic cancer three months before his death, and only because he’d collapsed in front of Dean to the floor when he’d gotten up to get another beer.

“Damn stubborn fool,” Dean muttered, still eyeing the marriage certificate.

Karen Singer. Born in the same year as Bobby, but on March 27… _0327_ , Dean’s mind supplied in a flash of inspiration.

 _0327_ , Dean repeated in his mind, already fumbling for his phone from the desk behind him. Castiel answered on the second ring.

“Cas, I think I know the code to that safe,” Dean said in lieu of a greeting.

Cas was too used to Dean’s cold openings to find them weird anymore. “You do?”

“Did you know Bobby was married?”

“Dean, I never even met the man.”

“Right. Well, he was, but he never told me about it. I dunno where she is now, but…I know what code to try next. You wanna open it?”

Castiel was quiet for a moment. “I think you should come here and open it yourself.”

“Hey, it’s your home, too—”

“But whatever is in there, Bobby left for you. You can open the safe the next time you’re here.”

Castiel was right, of course. Dean was rudely reminded of the distance between them with that one little sentence – even if he could call Cas and discuss this like Cas was just in the next room, he couldn’t actually walk up to Cas and grab his hand and go open the safe, like he wanted to.

“I miss you,” Dean said.

“You should come here, then,” Castiel answered. “I miss you, too.”

“You could come here, too,” Dean said, even if he knew that it wasn’t feasible. Cas didn’t have a car, for starters.

“I’d rather stay where I’m happy,” Cas said. “But if you really want that…”

“No,” Dean immediately said. “I dunno why I said that. I hate it here.”

“Then leave.”

“I’m taking off a few days the week after this,” Dean said. “Wanted to surprise you. Damn, now I ruined it.”

“I promise I’ll be pleasantly surprised when you show up,” Castiel said. “I always am, you know.”

“You’re a dork,” Dean said, but he smiled.

 

* * *

 

True to his word, Dean managed to get a few days off in September to drive up to the cabin. Castiel met him in the driveway, pulling Dean into a hug and a kiss straight from the car. They might’ve gotten a little handsy with their greetings, but at least there weren’t any next-door neighbors to traumatize, and birds and their pet deer wouldn’t complain.

After taking a nap and having a very late breakfast, Dean finally dragged Castiel to the hallway and opened the closet to reveal the small safe. It looked just as hard to crack as it had the first time, but Dean was sure he was right this time. And, well, if he wasn’t, he was prepared to blow the damn thing open.

“Want to do the honors?” Dean asked, but Castiel shook his head.

“Go on,” he urged, and Dean turned to enter the code.

He was relieved to find that he had been right – 0327 was the correct combination, and with a creak, the door to the safe opened. Eagerly, Dean and Castiel peered inside.

There was only one book in there, and with a heavy heart, Dean recognized it as the same type of photo album that Bobby had stacked upstairs. Still, he took the album out, brushing dust off of it.

“That’s kind of an anticlimax,” Dean said.

“Not all mysteries of life are profound,” Castiel remarked.

“Yeah, well, still. It would’ve been cooler if he’d kept 3 million dollars from an unsolved bank robbery here, or something.”

“You would have had to return that money.”

“Don’t be such a do-gooder, Cas.” Dean paused. “Yeah, okay, I would’ve had to return that money.”

“Besides, a photo album is much more personal than money.” Castiel nudged him. “Don’t you want to see what’s inside?”

Gingerly, Dean opened the title page of the album. It read, _Bobby and Karen_ with neat cursive that wasn’t Bobby’s, and with a jolt, Dean realized that it must’ve been Karen’s handwriting. Under their names was a date that Dean didn’t recognize, but he guessed that it might’ve been their wedding day. Under that read, _For all the memories we’ll make_. Turning the page, Dean’s hunch of the date was proved correct, as on the first page was a shot of very young Bobby and Karen at their wedding, dancing. Dean hardly recognized Bobby: he looked radiant, without any wrinkles and no beard, and Karen, a pretty blonde woman, seemed just as radiant as she leaned against Bobby. They couldn’t have been older than twenty, and it was weird to look at Bobby from this perspective – Dean remembered him as a grumpy old man, because Bobby had always been that to him, and it was strange to witness Bobby’s youth.

“Why would he hide this here?” Dean muttered out loud, turning the pages. There were more shots of Bobby and Karen’s wedding, then pictures of a house that Dean recognized as _Singer Salvage_ , when it had been clean and new. As they turned the pages, the pictures told a story of a young couple settling into their first home, decorating it, and then…

“They built this,” Castiel said, wonder in his voice.

“I never knew,” Dean said. He watched in amazement as Karen stood in front of the half-finished log cabin, pointing at it with a huge smile on her face. In the following pictures, Bobby was sawing off something, then Karen was washing the dishes by the very same sink Dean and Castiel had used numerous times. There were pictures of Karen and Bobby posing for the camera on the porch, pictures of them fishing together, and a blurred shot of a laughing Karen.

The pictures stopped abruptly. The rest of the album was empty, with the picture of laughing Karen being the last official photo of it, but there were some pictures tucked in between the last pages. Dean took them out, handing them to Cas, and as they leafed them through, it became clear why Bobby hadn’t included them in the album.

Karen looked paler in the pictures. Smaller. Picture by picture, she lost more weight, until she was pale and so thin that it was painful to look at her. Some of the pictures were still from the cabin, but the last pictures were from _Singer Salvage_ and what seemed to be a hospital.

On the last page of the album was written, in Bobby’s handwriting, _For all the memories we made._ Silently, Dean put the pictures back in the album, leafing back to a random page.

“He never told me,” Dean muttered. “He never said how important this place was to him.”

“Bobby didn’t give you this place just because you were here one time as a kid,” Castiel mused. “He wanted you to have this place as a home. To make as good memories as he had here.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “I can’t believe he never told me. But that’s the kind of guy he was. Never one for sharing, except when it counted.”

“But he did share, didn’t he?” Castiel asked. His fingers brushed against the page, landing on the photo of Bobby and Karen looking at each other and laughing. “He knew you’d find this, eventually.”

“Damn him,” Dean said with a groan. “The only man who could make sense even from beyond the grave.”

“Dean?”

In a split second, Dean made his decision. He’d waited long enough.

“Cas, would you…would you move in with me?”

Castiel’s mouth fell open. “Dean, what—”

“I just…I wanna wake up next to you every morning, and living 900 miles apart is kind of screwing with that.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, with a small smile, “It certainly is.”

“So, I just thought…we should live together.”

Cas was silent for a moment. “You’re sure?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

“We’ve known each other for three months,” Cas muttered.

“Look, you brought joy into my life again,” Dean started. “You made me feel again. I’ve known from the first moment that you were special.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You were there,” Dean said. “That was enough.”

There was a pause, and then Castiel put his hand on Dean’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. Dean relaxed into it, so much so that he nearly dropped the photo album, and laughing, they separated so that Dean could put the album back into the safe.

“Dean,” Castiel said then, sounding like he was carefully considering his words, “Have you considered where we would live?”

“Kind of,” Dean admitted.

“Kansas?”

“You don’t like it.”

“No,” Cas said. “I don’t. And neither do you.”

“No,” Dean said. “I just…I don’t think I’ve ever found a place that I’ve really liked. Except…well…this is pretty close.”

Dean was embarrassed, but Castiel lit up at that confession.

“I like it here, too,” Castiel said. He took Dean’s hand, and Dean enjoyed the way his calloused hands felt against his smoother ones.

“Would…would the people in the village have a need for a mechanic?” Dean asked. “That’s…I don’t know how to do anything else. Except sell stuff that people don’t need.”

“You can’t sell people what they don’t need, here,” Cas said. “But you can sell what they need. Food, for example.”

“Food?”

“You enjoy cooking, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but…” Dean had never said it out loud, but he wasn’t surprised that Castiel had figured him out so quickly. Dean enjoyed cooking – he always had. It had been his way to escape, to do something properly while everything else was collapsing around him, to keep his childhood together. It still brought him the same satisfaction it had in childhood, even if there was no reason to keep up the pretense of a perfect life.

“People will always need food,” Castiel said, “even in the middle of nowhere.”

“You got a point there, Cas,” Dean grinned.

“You might even sell better if you prepared it yourself.”

“I’m going to ignore that for the moment,” Dean said. He wasn’t ready to think about a complete career change just yet – even if the idea had been nudging his brain for years.

“I just want you to do something you like, for you,” Castiel said. “I enjoy living here. I like my work. But I understand that this is not for everyone.”

“Well, you’re kind of extreme. I’m not giving up my car.”

“You might want to consider getting a more reasonable model for these roads, though,” Castiel noted.

“Lies. My baby can handle anything.”

“Oh, thank you, honey.”

“I was _clearly_ talking about the car.”

“Of course you were,” Castiel grinned. He smoothed his hand against Dean’s, face falling a little. “But Dean, I thought you didn’t want to live here.”

Dean snorted. “I told myself I didn’t want that. But the funny thing is, the more you tell yourself somethin’, the more you start to believe in that. Life is a story we tell ourselves.”

“Profound,” Castiel said, smiling.

“Isn’t it?” Dean grinned. “Actually, I didn’t come up with that. Charlie, my best friend, is always saying that.”

“I’ll have to thank her for that.”

“You’re right, though,” Dean said then. “At first, I thought I would hate it here. But I actually wanna stay.”

“Then stay,” Castiel said, and that was that. Dean shared a long look with him, blinking against tears that most definitely weren’t there.

“You think this is gonna work out? Just camping out here and hoping things turn out fine?”

Cas caressed his hand.

“Of course,” he said. “It worked for me, didn’t it?”

Dean had to laugh at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you managed to read this far, thank you for the journey! <3 I'm on tumblr, [here](http://helakkas.tumblr.com/) and/or [here](http://justkeeponwriting.tumblr.com/) \- come say hi!


End file.
